


(Never) What You Wanted

by zenelly



Series: AssholeJohn, the series [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole!John, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 158,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You kiss him.</i> </p><p>  <i>It’s different when you mean it, when you twist your body against his with the full intention of following through and keeping him afterwards, when the arousal pounding into you in time with your pulse is definitely something you want. You bite the curve of his lips, lick into his mouth in wet and filthy motions. The entire kiss is slightly desperate and mostly vicious, a thing born of a conversational stand-still, and for a while, it seems like Dave might even respond, his mouth moving with you almost out of habit. </i></p><p>  <i>You don't know when this all went wrong.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Me By The Tongue (and I'll Know You)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuity I affectionately dubbed "AssholeJohn" when all it was was a series of prompts in my Tumblr askbox, and that is still its most common name, which is the reason for the tag above. What evolved out of those prompts is this monstrosity that I've been working on since November 2012. I never expected it to get this long or complicated, but clearly I was wrong. To get a few things out of the way!
> 
> First off, a big massive soul-encompassing thanks to all the people who sent in prompts while they were still going on. The story literally would not be here without you. Another round of thanks to my two betas, Soren and KK because this fic wouldn't be GOOD if it wasn't for them backtalking me over GDocs.
> 
> Okay, I'm going to stop taking up space up here and let you guys get to reading. Have fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how many pictures he ends up taking of you, just that you end up on the first floor, faux-glaring up at him as he leans around the stairway’s banister. Your expression keeps slipping into a smile without you meaning it to, and you're sure he catches a picture of it. Lowering the camera carefully, Dave pauses, looks down at his camera's viewscreen.
> 
> "Huh," he whispers, just loud enough for the front hall to catch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from "Moves Like Jagger" by Maroon 5. Don't mock my music choices.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 14:56 --

EB: hey, dave?  
TG: yo dude sup  
TG: havent heard from you in a while  
TG: have you just had too much strider  
TG: which is btw impossible because there can never be too much of a good thing  
TG: and we striders are the best thing so there  
EB: oh my god, cool your jets or something.  
EB: there’s no reason to get so worked up, ok?  
EB: I just wanted to ask you a question!  
TG: oh  
TG: alright shoot what is it  
EB: do you have a roommate lined up for next year yet?   
TG: nah bro figured id go potluck  
TG: got a worthless piece of shit this last year but you never know  
EB: how about you don’t see what the college turns up for you and put down someone’s name?   
TG: I would but they dont like it when bros room with chicks and the girls are already rooming with each other  
EB: not quite what I meant.  
EB: why don’t you try putting down my name!  
TG: ...  
TG: haha very funny dude but julys a bit late for april fools  
EB: I’m not joking! Seriously, put me down for your roommate.  
EB: I’m moving to college with you, jade, and rose. This one sorta sucks.  
TG: only sorta??  
EB: well...   
TG: youve been complaining about it nonstop since you got there like it was some strange personal azkaban  
TG: there is no love for you there  
TG: all they give there are kisses of soul sucking horror  
EB: i can’t believe this. are you actually referencing harry potter at me? you are such a dork.  
TG: stfu wizards are fucking awesome back to what i was saying john  
TG: is that what this really is  
TG: your last ditch effort to actually get some  
TG: are you this desperate for some love from me  
TG: i mean i know most people would find some problem with macking on a happiness deprived sonofabitch but that wouldnt scare me off  
TG: all you had to do was ask  
EB: you huge fucking dweeb, i thought you got over hp in middle school   
TG: what no i never got into hp to begin with are you kidding me  
TG: its like me quoting those shitty movies of yours okay  
TG: somewhere in there they both have cultural significance but hps influence has overtaken more than just your sad excuse for a brain  
TG: isnt it good to know that youre not the only aesthetically damaged person in the universe  
EB: dude, get over yourself. i’ve totally seen the harry potter robes in your closet   
TG: i have no idea what youre talking about  
EB: anyway, that is not what it was, will you pay attention?  
TG: couldve fooled me that was clearly the most obvious reasoning behind all this  
TG: you complained about it all the fucking time saying it was terrible and you hated yourself and everyone there blah blah blah  
TG: tbh i tuned most of it out i couldnt bear to listen to your vaguely incoherent bitching and moaning anymore  
EB: wow, dick. i’m feeling your warm compassion over here.  
EB: but that’s because it was. but now i can be with you guys in virginia! and i want to be your roommate, dave!  
TG: how forward mr egbert i dont know if i can handle this its all so sudden  
EB: dude, are you in or not?   
TG: im so in  
EB: awesome. i’ll be there in about a month. jade and i are driving together. are you going to be ready for this?  
TG: egbert there is nothing you can throw at me that i cant handle  
EB: hehehe, whatever you say, dave. see you soon!

* * *

 

Your heart is pounding its way out of your chest.

It’s noon, and there is a plain door in front of you and a key clenched so tightly in your hand you can feel the unforgiving metal shape of it pressing into your palm. Your breathing is unsteady and all in all, you just feel like you’re about to pass out.

Oh god, you can’t pass out. That would ruin everything.  You have to open the door.

“Oh my god, John, suck it up and move already!” comes a voice from behind you, and you turn to sigh at Jade, shaking your head.

“It’s not that easy!” you try protesting, but Jade has already pushed past you to jostle the doorknob anyway, her eyes rolling behind her glasses as she opens the door. You hear her mutter under her breath while she’s jostling the doorknob -probably something about your sense of adventure being stunted- but you’re a little busy not paying attention because the door opens (hah, not locked, you think inanely) and-

Someone is in the room.

“Woah, is that you, Egbert? Damn, you’ve grown since the last time I saw you. And that’s saying something, short stack.”

You laugh, and it’s like your nerves disappear as you run into the room and fling yourself at the waiting body inside. “Oh, can it, Dave. God, it’s good to see you. I can’t believe this is actually happening!” You pull back from the hug to look (up, damn Dave for his string bean stature) at your friend, tracing the familiar features of his fair-skinned face. Dave tilts his characteristic sunglasses down to stare at you over their rims, and you see the quirk of a blond eyebrow behind his bangs and the rare chance to see his eyes sends another thrill of happiness through you.

Skype really doesn’t do them justice.

“I know, I know, Dave Strider in the flesh, what a crazy random happenstance. God, isn’t it just good to be me?,” Dave laughs, his voice dry with self-impressed sarcasm, and you scowl at him, though you keep screwing up the expression by smiling like an idiot. "Are you ready for the gloriousness that is being my roommate, dude?"

"Gloriousness?" You snort. "More like headache. Hope you didn't bring any of your brother's puppets. Or any of your dead things. Those are..."

"Amazing?"

"Unsettling, actually. But whatever you want to call it."

Dave grins at you, a flash of teeth showing through before he shakes his head and turns to Jade with his arms wide open. "C'mere, my main girl. Give the Strider some sugar."

Jade hurls herself at Dave bodily, the two of them colliding with a smack that makes you wince. They break apart to do some insanely complicated handshake that ends with Jade punching Dave in the shoulder and Dave trying and failing not to yelp.

"I said sugar, Harley, not salt. You still show love like a pachycephalosaurus, huh?" he says, rubbing his arm, and you muffle your snickers behind your hand. When Dave turns to look at you, you paste an innocently wide-eyed face on, though your lips keep trying to twitch into a smile. You lose your beatific expression when Dave mouths something, you think it's "traitor,” at you.

Her hands braced on her hips, Jade raises an eyebrow at Dave. "You thought that would change? For someone who spars with his brother as much as you do, you bruise way too easy, you softy."

Dave makes a face at her, but doesn't do anything other than punch her back, grinning after a second. "I had hoped, a'ight? You could have loosened up this summer. Gained some maternal instincts or some shit."

"Not a chance, Strider." Jade pushes her hair back, then looks over at you. "Ready to help the new kid move in, tough guy?"

"Anytime." Dave cracks his knuckles. "Let's do some heavy lifting, Harley."

The door opens again. You turn around to see a slight blonde woman leaning in the doorway, a faint smile on her face. "Oh, hello, John. Good to see you and Jade made it here alright."

"Rose!" You hurry forward and hug her tightly. "Oh man, I was wondering where you were. How are you?"

"I'm alright. There was a bit of hold-up on the stairs.” She hugs you back, then steps away, smiling up at you as she tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “Too many people. At least they plan on renovating them soon; they’re fairly dangerous, and with John in our company, as well as his tendency to injure himself, we’re just asking for a misstep and a broken leg. Not a word, Dave. I know what you’re thinking."

Dave shuts his mouth with a faint huff, almost pouting. “It was so called for, though,” he grumbles.

Rose rolls her eyes, but returns her attention to you with barely a pause. "It is good to see you. Do I get any reassurance that you'll be around at least semi-permanently for once?"

You grin easily, disregarding Rose’s typical mildly acerbic tone. "Yep. No getting rid of me too easily this time. You can't wait me out and just think that I'll be leaving soon so you won't have to deal with me anymore."

A hand ruffles your hair and you half-turn to smile up at Dave. "Whatever, Egbert. Quit your yapping and let's just get your shit set up so we can figure out what the hell we're doing to celebrate, alright?"

You scoff, but follow him out of the room while the girls swarm each other, Rose taking Jade’s abundant enthusiasm in stride.

It's quick work to bring up your boxes from the car when the four of you are working together. You didn't bring much, really, especially since you knew how small the rooms were going to be (and you were warned by Rose and Jade both about Dave's tendency to leave stuff to clutter up every available surface). You really wish your dad could be here with you to help settle you in, but his work was too busy to allow him the time off, so you figured that you'll just call him later and show him around on your computer.

Unpacking takes slightly longer, but by the time the sun has set, you're all done. You all survey your work proudly, where Dave's bed is bunked under yours (he claims to be unable to sleep too far off the ground; you think he’s just full of shit), and all of your clothes are stacked neatly in your dresser.

"Ready for dinner, bro?"

Cued by the reminder of sustenance, your stomach growls.

So does Jade's, and she grins sheepishly at all of you. "Well, come on," she says after a moment, rolling her eyes. "You all know I have an appetite. Is the cafeteria open?"

You shake your head, stalling Rose from answering. "I was thinking, since it's my first night here, why don't I take us out for dinner? I'll pay, you guys pick the place, since you've been here longer."

Your offer has them huddling together, trying to decide on somewhere to go, while you stand to the side and tap your foot theatrically. Eventually, they come to a consensus: some cheesesteak place you are told you're going to love. You roll your eyes, but... God, you're just happy to be with them. You have your friends with you. Finally! For the first time in years, all four of you are all together and there’s not a clock ticking down in your head, staining every moment with just the faintest wash of sadness.

This year -no, all three years that you have with them are going to be fantastic.

* * *

 

It takes you a good two weeks to really settle in. The buildings at this new college are all unfamiliar to you, their numbering systems and abbreviations foreign and confusing. Plus, it takes you about that long to even remember when you even _have_ classes at first, much less where they all are. Once you have that down, though, you're fine. You meet up with the other three for lunch on most days, snagging food and exchanging a few quick jokes about the state and relative lack of taste of their meals in the cafeteria before you have to run off again to your next class.

But even with the increasing load of work as classes pick up, it's nice, which is something you couldn't ever really say about your other college. You just never really fit in quite so well over there, and hearing about all of the things your friends got to do without you... well.

You suppose it was your fault. You got into a school based on your test scores, and it was one of the top rated in the nation, and you assured your friends that you would be fine even though you were jealous they got to be together, and you should have been happy there. Yet you hated every second of it. You felt incredibly isolated last year, but that doesn't matter. You're with all of your closest friends _now_ , so that makes up for it, and you're not going to mope about what you missed out on before.

You and Dave spend a number of your evenings together on the couch that Dave has, your feet shoved together, you with your books spread out around you and Dave with his headphones half over his ears as he works on whatever homework he has for his classes. You find yourself watching him during your down moments, something remarkable about how open Dave is leaving himself to you here. He hates it when his concentration is ruined and yet, for you, he doesn’t seem to mind as much. At least you don’t interrupt him very often. The two of you are typically silent except for the occasional yawn or mutter, grumbling about whatever class you're working on. It's comfortable.

On one of these quiet evenings, you feel yourself yawning over and over again. You spend more time staring blankly at your computer screen than you do actually working on your homework. You're so warm, buried half under your blanket, your feet tucked up against Dave's calf. Slowly, so slowly, you succumb to the warmth and the lulling noise of Dave humming away at his computer.

You wake up.

The room is entirely dark, too dark for a dorm room, which is disorienting for the long seconds it takes you to figure out that you're not out on the couch and that your glasses are not currently on your face. Flinging your hand out, you encounter sheets, bed, ... curtain? The only place that has curtains is Dave’s bed, but why would you be there? It’s odd until you realize that he must not have wanted to try and carry you up to your top bunk. Your glasses are on your chest, and you unfold them, put them on. You don't hear anything from outside the bunk; Dave must be asleep. Or watching something. Hell, you don't even know what time it is.

Quietly, you open the curtains.

 _3:39,_ the clock blinks, red numbers bright in the darkness of the room.

Dave is asleep on the couch.

His skin is dimly lit by the sickly blue glow of his computer screen, ebony shadowing the dips and curves that the computer throws into sharp relief. You're not entirely sure why you keep staring at him, just that you do, that the play of light over his skin is entrancing and makes his skin look soft. Touchable. Like you could sink into it, into him.

You shake your head.

Carefully, you get out of bed, wincing when you encounter cold air and even colder tile, the chill turning the sourness in your mouth nauseating, but you swallow through it. With the coordination that comes only from being half-awake and having to concentrate through your haze, you make your way over to Dave. He stirs, an unformed murmur rising. But he only turns over, his face tilted towards you.

You sigh at him, almost fond. He should have just woken you up so you could go to your own bed and then he could have slept in his own. You swear that sometimes he does the dumbest things and you're never going to understand them. With clumsy fingers, you pet his hair, moving the light strands away from his face, tugging a few of them out from their trapped position under Dave's sunglasses. (Wow, you had no idea he wore those while he _slept_ , the dork. But the fact that he wears a present you got for him _years_ ago makes a pocket of warmth solidify under your sternum that you're going to choose to ignore for the moment.)

Carefully, you pull his shades off, folding them and setting them down on the arm of the couch. You stand, go back to Dave's bed, pull down the comforter from it, and lay it on top of Dave, tucking it around his shoulders. He hums, content. Then rolls back over, clutching the blanket to him.

You shake your head.

Striders.

Impossible to get.

But you hoist yourself into your top bunk, tucking your glasses into their side pocket that you hung for them before sliding underneath your blankets. You can't help but feel like you were warmer below, in Dave's bed, but you're not going to take it over in case Dave wakes up later and decides he does want his pillows after all.

It's difficult to fall asleep, but you manage.

In the morning, Dave awkwardly fist-bumps your shoulder as you're brushing your teeth. "Hey, dude, uh. Thanks. For the blanket last night. I didn't mean to leave you there and kip out on the couch, but you looked too damn comfortable to move."

You shrug, grinning around your toothbrush. You spit and gargle before trying to speak; you know better than that. "S'cool. I just woke up randomly and thought you looked cold. Plus, I didn't think you'd want lines from your shades, you know?"

"Yeah. Still, thanks."

"No problem."

He knocks your shoulder again with his knuckles, smiling, before he turns around and heads back out. "Alright, I'm going to class. I'll see you later tonight, okay?"

"Sure!"

The door closes behind him and you continue on with the rest of your morning ritual, a skip in your step.

* * *

 

You take a Saturday to wander the campus. Dave waves you off when you ask him if he'd like to show you around, already face deep in an art project, faint lines crisscrossing on a sketchbook as the edges of his hands slowly darken with graphite, so you leave him to his muttering and go off alone. You tilt your face up towards the sky, inhaling the late summer air that seems heavy with soil and plants, the faintest hint of brine catching on the end.

Surrounding the campus are large trees, filtering down the bright sunlight to a gentle green-gold haze that speckles the ground under the students' feet. For a weekend, there are still a fair number of people running back and forth across the campus, and almost all of the buildings are unlocked.

Which is good, you muse, sticking your head into yet another multi-story brick building that might as well be indistinguishable from all of the others. If they weren't open, you'd never figure out which building is which.

You find the chemistry building (halfway across the campus, to the left, has a bit of a miasma that smells faintly of acid and gas and clings to the back of your throat), the building that must be the engineering conglomerate (west side of the campus, has a miniature car workshop out back). The english building (closest to your dorm, of course, somehow seems stuffier than the other buildings for no apparent reason) is also pretty easy for you to identify, and you smile idly to yourself as you keep walking on the meandering paths through the college.

The wind kicks up, and leaves whirl in the eddies it makes around your legs. You laugh, lift your face to the warm sunlight, feel the cooler air wick away the comfortable warmth you are soaking in. Brushing your bangs out of your face, you move into the shadow of a low building, tilt your head at it curiously.

Well, you _are_ exploring. Might as well go in here too.

You can't see a sign for the building, so you must be entering through a side door. You push the door open, feeling its creak under the pads of your fingers.

There's a strange, hushed feeling the second you get inside the building, something about the way your footsteps echo that begs you to be as quiet as you can. The floor is tiled, making the clicks of your heels sound louder than they should be, and you slow your steps so as not to overwhelm.

You breathe in.

Despite how immaculate this place seems, it smells musty, and when you get to the open lobby, stairs heading in every direction, you can see small motes of glittering dust hover and spiral in the sunlight coming through a large skylight. You hear muffled noises, far away and unreachable. You can't tell if they're voices or anything else.

Faint strains of music float down, a few notes again and again. Pause. And again. Pause, and again, only continuing this time.

Your lips curve upwards in delight.

Holy shit, you found the music building.

You continue your exploration eagerly now, wandering up and down the staircases to find music libraries, specialized classrooms, a theater for recitals, all echoing the ephemeral notes that seem to fill this entire building. For a place that contains so much potential for sound, that _should_ contain it all and let it fill up the air, it still seems hushed somehow, reverent, the dark stone walls moody and foreboding. Carefully, you walk down a slanted path, down into the basement.

Small rooms, cordoned off into a maze, fill the area. Practice rooms. In here, your steps finally don't make too much noise, and you poke your head around all of the dark corners, curious.

No one is here.

You are alone.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a second. The smell and feel of this place are escaping your words to define, but it is all so comfortable and familiar, settling into your bones. If you tried hard enough, you might be able to find something that would help, something about the trail of dust motes in the light over there, or perhaps the roughness of the brick walls, or, or, or-

You turn around and around in circles, trying to chase the feeling around the corners of these dark hallways, but you can't quite manage. Eventually, you just give up. You're not sure what it is about this place that you like so much; it seems to be something that's just going to elude you except in vague and broad terms, heavy-handedly trying to paint something that requires a delicate touch.

It's ... moody and dusty and you want to bring someone here to show them the building. Maybe play some music for them, since your hands are now itching to touch the pianos again.

You think Dave would love this place. He would love to take his camera in here and catch all of the lighting and the age of the building and all of the other photography crap you've listened to him spiel on about for what seems like days on end. He could take it apart and reconstruct it, stringing the pictures around your room in the collages you used to see in the webcam behind him.

It sets off an odd pang of want in you, the desire, you think, to see Dave light up in this place.

This gives you an idea.

* * *

 

You have to wait.

It drives you mad, this knowledge, this secret beneath your skin, but you're used to biting back surprises until the right moment. Eventually, Dave resurfaces from his haze of working, his cheeks no longer rubbed gray and black from the charcoal on his hands. You don't have to listen to him bitching and moaning about the unfamiliar medium anymore, which is nice. Plus, now when it's a off-and-on-rainy late Thursday afternoon and your lab has let out, you don't feel bad about pushing and nagging him out of the dorm room. You make a big show about him bringing his camera along. Dave barely even bats an eyelash at that, the smooth object already in his hands by the end of your sentence.

You push open the door to the music building. For some reason that you can't pin down, your heart is beating in your throat, unavoidable, as you watch Dave look around the inside of the building for the first time. He's quiet, but you notice the sideways quirk of his lips, and he lifts his camera wordlessly, taking pictures of... almost everything, it seems. He's fairly indiscriminate when it comes to subjects, snapping at columns, the curve of light on the floor, a professor's door.

Following him is interesting. He's after something, you're sure, casting around like a dog trying to find a scent, taking pictures of everything like that will help him in his quest.

At some point, Dave contorts himself into some position that requires him to be on his toes, braced against the railing of the second floor, leaning over, all so he can get a supposedly artistic angle on ... what you assume is the lower lobby's staircase. You can't stop your short laugh at that, and Dave jolts. "Forgot about me?" you ask teasingly when he turns slowly towards you, eyes visible and wide.

His lips twitch and he tosses his head back to let his shades slide down to their typical position instead of being cocked up on his forehead. "Psh, no. Just making sure the building didn't feel left out before I started taking pictures of the real star of the show. Smile and look pretty, Egbert." And with that, he starts snapping quick pictures of you, chasing you across the second floor, ignoring your laughter and protestations as they ring around the building.

You have no idea how many pictures he ends up taking of you, just that you end up on the first floor, faux-glaring up at him as he leans around the stairway’s banister. Your expression keeps slipping into a smile without you meaning it to, and you're sure he catches a picture of it. Lowering the camera carefully, Dave pauses, looks down at his camera's viewscreen.

"Huh," he whispers, just loud enough for the front hall to catch it.

Sharp, your pulse jolts through you. You laugh to cover its sudden rush, tapping your foot on the bottom step impatiently. "Well, whatever, pictures aren't all I brought you here for. Come on, time for _me_ to show off, photo boy."

Dave follows you down the gently sloping hallway to the basement practice rooms, hands still and camera silent for the longest stretch of time since he entered the building. That stops when you lead him through a few turns, and he takes a few quiet pictures before you stop in front of a door.

Your heart is beating way too fast.

Performance anxiety is nothing you need to worry about, you try to convince yourself, steadying yourself with a few deep inhales. It's just Dave.

“Alright, are you ready for this?” You enter the practice room and breathe out heavily before turning back to Dave, grinning widely. He shakes his head at you for being a dork, but doesn’t answer, instead just kicks the door frame idly.  “None of that, I dragged you here for a reason, you know.”

Dave snorts. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re having me along because you were too lonely and nervous to come here alone, you fucking wuss. You’re the musician.” Despite his words, he settles himself in the chair in the corner of the room and nudges the door shut, though he makes a face when the pressure of the sound-proof room makes his ears pop. “Dude, what the fuck. That shit is uncomfortable. Why the hell do you practice in vacuum-sealed death chambers? Any idea how long they’ll be secretly gassing you before you figure it out?”

You laugh and sit down at the piano bench, frowning when it creaks unsteadily beneath you. But sitting in front of the piano makes you breathe in, out, smell the varnish on the piano, the stuffy, somehow dry and dusty air that fills the sound-proofed room, and the scents are familiar and comfortable as you rest your hands on the white keys.

“Any requests?” you ask without looking over your shoulder. Dave remains silent, and you grin to yourself. Well. If he can’t make a choice, then you will, and you’re going to pick something to wow him.

Your fingers move into position. You take a deep breath, count in, count out, fix the tempo in your mind, and on one soft exhale…

_Press down. Lift, down._

_Glide._

The opening strains of _Clair de Lune_ slink out, a gossamer-soft whisper in the room. You breathe with the music, one ear turned towards Dave at all times because well, you wouldn’t have brought him along for _nothing_. You brought him along to show off, to do your best in front of an audience, (to impress him) but as you get to the more intense part, your awareness of Dave falls away. Chords spill in a rumbling tapestry from your fingers, all movement and achingly sweet adulation, and you breathe with it, feeling a tingling rush as you give over your thoughts to making the music perfect and perfect and-

A slow build up, the melody passing back and forth between your hands, growing quieter all along until you return to the opening melody. Your left hand plays a gorgeous, rippling counterpoint to the relatively unadorned right hand, and you just keep breathing with the music, feeling the piece begin to wind down until only a few soft chords remain.

The room is silent in the aftermath.

Your breaths are all you can hear, and you slowly turn to look at Dave.

“Well?” you ask, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t breathless, anxious for him to be impressed and for him to look at you and smile and tell you that you did a good job.

Dave adjusts his glasses, fiddles with the camera in his lap. “Eh,” he mutters. “You know electronica is more my jam.” But he lifts the camera and focuses it on you, twisted uncomfortably on the piano bench, and snaps a picture of you anyway. “That wasn’t awful. Would be better with a backbeat. Maybe next time we could bring in my turntables and just jam the fuck out, annoy everyone, see how soundproof these fuckin’ death chambers really are. Bet they can’t hold back the fury of my slick rhymes.”

Laughing at him is inevitable when he starts acting ridiculous like that, and you don’t even bother attempting to fight it, snickering into your hand. You’re sure Dave is frowning at you. You don’t care. Sitting up, you shake your head at him. “Whatever, loser. You’re just feeling left out in the face of my magnificence.”

“Hah, as if! Bet that’s the only song you can play and you’ve like, practiced eighteen hours out of the day to make sure you can play it perfectly for your best bud in an attempt to, I dunno, woo him or some shit like that.” Dave snorts, a cocky grin canting his lips. “Lame-ass. Show me-”

“I swear to god if you’re about to say “Show me your moves”-”

“-your _sweetest_ moves, fuck you very much.” Leaning back, Dave fidgets with something on his camera and raises it. You see the lens whirl, focusing on you and you make a wry face back at it. “Do a picture perfect combo, Egbert.”

With a heavy, over-exaggerated sigh, you turn back to the piano. Breathe in. Breathe out. What other song should you play?

Hm.

You hesitantly lay your hands on the keys, tapping them quietly against the ivories. The D-flat key is under your left index finger and you cock your head. Well. The weather outside is appropriate. You shift on the bench, the ancient wood creaking under your every move, and reposition your hands. F-natural under your right pinky, D-flat now under your left pinky finger, yes, there they all are. All in order now.

Breathe in.

_One-two-three._

Breathe out.

The opening melody is like the gentle fall of whimsical raindrops, and you make sure the _una corda_ and sustain pedals are pressed, the noise forming into a muffled, far-away refrain. You feel like if you closed your eyes, you could just be sitting in a warm windowsill, watching the unpredictable patterns of rain, which you suppose is exactly what Chopin was going for with this piece.

There’s a gentle _click-whirr_ behind you. Dave must be taking pictures, but you’re too busy building a rainstorm to mind him too much. The melody leaves off its happier refrain to turn slightly melancholy, the dark clouds on the horizon moving closer.

_Press-press-press-press…_

The low rumbles of the bass move in, quiet at first, but growing ever louder. Soft. Inexorable. You breathe in, in, in, out, out, out, nodding with the beat.

Thunder. Your movements are large and grandiose and your fingers firm as you lay into the lower register of the piano, drawing out the loud rumbles as best you can, the storm you envision turning tumultuous. The song is in no way disorganized but rather overwhelming, a grand buildup to an intense climax. Fading from a fortissimo to a forte, to a mezzoforte to piano and-

Back to the opening melody, your hands as light and airy as ever. The soprano part lingers sweetly over its refrain before the song begins to wind down, the repetitive motion in your left hand never stopping until the.

Very.

End.

You breathe in.

The absolute stillness of the practice room is almost a sanctuary, the place you can rest in while your mind returns from its intuitive haze. You feel like you’ve just woken up, your fingers weak with nerves and-

_Click-whirr._

You turn around and raise an eyebrow at Dave. “Why do you ruin all of my magical moments, Dave.”

“Dude, the song was over, what the fuck?” But his words don’t have the grimly sarcastic edge that typically marks them as Dave busies himself with checking something on his camera. It almost seems like he's avoiding your gaze, but that's ridiculous. “You’re not going to tell me some bullshit like I was ‘ruining the ambiance,’ are you?”

You sniff. “No, you were interrupting the thunderous applause I was getting from my imaginary audience, you jerk.” Mockingly, you wave and stand up to bow, miming wiping tears from your eyes and picking up bouquets of flowers, Dave laughing at you the entire time. You get more extravagant, beginning to recite bits and pieces of some improvised thank you speech.

Someone walks by and makes a confused face at you two through the window before speeding up their steps. You sober up long enough for them to pass before you sneak a peek at Dave again. His lips twitch. And he snorts and just starts laughing again, muffled chortles that shake his entire body.

You break out into helpless laughter, collapsing onto the floor next to Dave. “Dude, did you see her face?”

“Oh my god, and the way she just-”

“-Yeah, I know and -”

“Ahahahaha, fuck I can’t breathe!”

Dave rubs his face, still grinning, before he stands and slaps your shoulder gently. "C'mon, Maestro. It's getting late and this growing boy needs to be fed before he turns into a tumbleweed and just blows away in the wind. Don’t laugh at me, I don’t want to end up setting the tone for overdramatic posturing of two guys in ridiculous hats at midday."

"Like you're one to really talk about overdramatic posturing," you snort, but you stand up with a small groan and twist to pop your back. "I don't think you're going to waste away if you're late to one meal."

He shrugs. Adjusting his glasses as he opens the door, Dave replies, "You never know, man. We Striders are a strange bunch."

* * *

 

September bleeds into October, the trees beginning to shed the last vestiges of their greens (and a few of them shedding their browning leaves in the stronger winds). You start to smell frost and smoke on the air any time the sun goes down, despite the warmth of the sunlight each day. You walk home slowly from your last class of the day with steps that are measured and deliberate. Raising your face, you close your eyes and enjoy the play of the sun's warmth mixed with the wicking chill of the wind on your skin.

“Hey, Egbert!”

Your head jerks down, and you cast around for Dave. He waves you over, sitting on the sloping hill outside your dorm, and you jog over, a grin spanning your face. “Hey, you. Got out of class already?”

“Yeah. 3 o’clock class got canceled. Something about the professor needing to get the fuck out of this hell-hole.” Dave taps something against his hand, a cigarette. You blink. Eye it, confused, and watch as Dave lifts it to his lips and takes a deep breath. After he exhales, he raises an eyebrow at you. “What? It was just a joke. He got sick. Shit happens. Which is good, gave me the opportunity to come out here and smoke some.”

“Oh, no, that’s not…” You scrub your hair, squinting slightly in the late afternoon light. “I just didn’t know you smoked.”

Dave grunts, shifts in his spot. “Huh. Must’ve forgotten to mention it.” Taking another drag of his cigarette, he looks away from you, scanning your surroundings and waving his fingers at people who pass by. You take advantage of his distraction to just stare at Dave instead of anyone else, watching the light play over the curves and lines of his face as he continues to smoke, his lips parting for the cig.

“It doesn’t bother you, right?”

You jerk your eyes up to meet his (you think, at least. Those shades of his make it impossible to tell sometimes) and grin. “No, are you kidding me? Dad smokes a pipe all the time. I keep trying to get him to quit because, you know, it’s bad for him, but eh, he hasn’t listened. And I’m not even going to bother warning you. You should already know better.”

“Oh, harsh. You don’t care if your best bro’s life is just flushed down the toilet as he slowly hacks out his life pack by pack, until he can’t breathe without attempting to regurgitate a single, blackened lung? Shows how much you love me. I know how it goes.” Dave staves off your attempts to break into his flow by lifting his hands and just talking over your laughing protests. “No no, I get it. You just want the goods promised from the truly amazing Dave Strider’s will and testament already, don’t you? Well, too bad, your ploy has been seen through! I shall call up the arbiter of my estate posthaste and have you written out!”

He grins at you as you give up trying to stop him and just laugh.

When you’re winding down from your laughter, Dave elbows you in the side, takes another inhale of the slender cigarette between his lips. “No, but seriously. It doesn’t bother you? I usually only stress smoke, so it’s not like I do this all the time.”

You cock your head. “Hm? No, it’s cool. What’s stressing you out, man?”

He waves, indistinct, sighs out this huge billow of smoke. “First tests are coming up. I’m just worried about them, I guess.”

“You’ll kick your tests’ asses, Dave, don’t worry.” You nudge him back, take a deep breath to taste the nicotine on the air and grin widely at him. “Trust me. Just don’t expect me to join you in your quest to ruin your lungs.”

“You just don’t want to be a cool rebel like me.”

“No, I want to be able to run when I’m thirty, unlike you. You’ll be one of the first down when the zombie apocalypse comes, you know. With no lung capacity comes no capacity to be a badass.”

Dave snorts in disbelief and actually tilts his shades down so he can stare at you over the rims. “Are you fucking serious dude? You think I’m going down in a zombie fight because I’m not enough of a badass? What part of ‘I have black belts in multiple varieties of martial arts’ do you not understand?”

“The part where those belts don’t magically enable you to breathe with tar in your lungs.”

When he tackles you, you lose the rest of your air between laughing and Dave hitting your diaphragm. After tussling with him in the grass for a bit, you finally end up on top of him, holding his wrists down against the cool grass. He should really know better than to wrestle with you; you're stronger than you look after all.

"Hah!" You grin down at Dave. "Give up?"

You can clearly feel Dave's stuttering heartbeat in your palms and where you're straddling him between your thighs, as well as his staggered, laboring breaths. He shifts awkwardly. It's not like he's actually trying to get out of your hold on him (and you press his wrists back down just that much more to discourage the idea). You're about to question him, but he grins up at you, the expression somehow shifty. "Yeah, come on, dude, I give. Lemme go."

Rolling your eyes, you let him go and tumble off to the side. "Didn't think you'd forfeit so easily, Strider. Doesn't it burn your pride or something?"

He shrugs. "Not really." Standing up, he brushes all of the grass that clings to his clothes off. "Wanna grab food or something and then watch some bad movies? Or good ones, if you’re actually going to let me pick for once."

"Your movies are always weird and _ironic_ though. Can't we just have something straightforward with a bunch of explosions?"

"Back on your man-crush for Nic Cage?"

"Look, sixteen was a rough age," you argue as you stand up, ignoring Dave's proffered hand. "I can now admit that yes, _Con Air_ is a terrible movie, but that doesn't mean I can't like it. It's corny as fuck but it's also good-"

"-for background noise and firewood."

"Shut your whore mouth. You're paying for dinner now, I hope you realize."

Dave bumps you with his shoulder as you head down to the sidewalk, and when you side-eye him, you can see the tell-tale curve of his mouth that means he's trying desperately not to smile. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and as you walk around the side of the building, heading for the parking lot and Dave's cheap truck, the wind picks up and tosses your hair around in thick, heavy strands. "Whatever, dude. I can handle dinnering you for a night."

"Dinnering?"

"Buying you dinner with the intent of getting something from you at the end of the night."

You cough and laugh and your heart jolts oddly in your chest. You rest your hand on the latch to the passenger side door, cock your head at Dave. "What do you want from me, Dave?"

Dave's expression seems somehow too-serious for a beat and a half too long before he grins. "For the movie you pick to not be terrible, that's what. I know it's impossible, but I figure we can at least give it a shot and maybe watch something we both like."

"Or something we both don't."

"Commentate it until it’s good?"

"I will willingly Mystery Science Theater something with you," you allow. "On the grounds that it is a legitimately _awful_ movie and not just one you say is."

"Your taste is improving, young padawan." Dave pulls open his door and gets in, starts the car while you fight to get your door open. Once you finally manage to get in and sit down, he says, "I'm picking where we're going for dinner."

You just wave your hand in a vague affirmation and settle in to stare out the window.

After eating, which is a fairly simple affair except for how Dave shoots down every movie suggestion you offer, up to and including _The Princess Bride_ which is odd because you know he loves that movie (unironically, no matter how much he protests otherwise), you bicker as you head back to the dorms, trying to come up with something to watch until Dave just grabs something off the shelves and puts it into the DVD player.

"We're watching this. No questions. Ah!" He waves his finger at you. "No. Questions."

You scowl and flop down on the couch with your comforter, leaving enough space under it so Dave can cover himself up too. "Not even what movie it is?"

Dave looks down at the DVD case. "The Returner. Oh. Good movie. All in Japanese. This is one of Bro's favorites to make me watch with him."

You roll your eyes as he sits down next to you, and the two of you try to get comfortable as the movie starts up. “Dude, scoot the fuck over, you’re cramping my style,” Dave bitches, jostling his elbow from its position half under your body.

You laugh and knock into him with your shoulder. “You don’t have any style, dude, don’t lie. Just shut up and watch this movie, alright. You’re the one who picked it out.”

"Only because all the ones you picked out are lame as shit, like I knew they were going to be," Dave scoffs and shifts uncomfortably, but he settles after a second and keeps watching, blanket tucked loosely around his legs and torso.

After a while, you lose a little interest in the movie (what the hell is even going on in this bizarre thing) and just start examining the walls of your room. It’s been awhile since you moved in, and the place is just starting to feel more like home. The room is starting to smell comfortable and used, and you no longer bump into everything as you maneuver around in the morning without your glasses on.

Dave has a veritable cave of solitude, made from pillows and blackout curtains on the bottom bunk. In exchange for his relative comfort, you get to have fun hauling yourself up to your bunk in the dark. Not maiming yourself getting up and down is more of a daily adventure and challenge than it is anything else. The desks are arranged just how the both of you like them, on the wall by the window, with Dave’s slightly more cordoned off than yours is.

The movie’s credits are rolling by the time you finally clue back in, so you just laugh at yourself for zoning out so long and ruffle Dave’s hair.

Dave frowns at you, confused and mussed, before he just rolls his eyes. “Egbert, please tell me that you actually saw all of that. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Not at all,” you admit, and he shakes his head at you.

“Dude, you missed an awesome movie about time traveling and aliens and you aren’t even sorry, are you?”

“It had time traveling aliens?”

Despairingly, he sighs. “ Well, no, technically the aliens never time travelled, and you know what, I don’t know why I’m saying any of this to you since you so blatantly disregarded the whole thing to begin with. Oh my god, John.” And he scrubs his hand through your hair, distracting you enough that the first glances of contact across your sides catch you complete unawares. You struggle against him, laughing as he manhandles you across the couch.

In the ensuing tickle fight, you manage to knock off Dave’s glasses while struggling to get away from his hands, shrieking and flailing to the best of your ability. Uncoordinatedly, you try to retaliate, pulling him off balance on top of you. You laugh triumphantly, and-

-you are suddenly aware of all the ways you are pressed against Dave. All the ways he isn’t moving anymore, how he’s supporting his upper body but his hips are resting right against yours. How his breath coasts across your face.

You look up.

Dave’s eyes are completely blown, wide and intense. It’s almost like he’s considering something, and your mouth is suddenly dry, your heart beating too fast in your chest. You lick your lips, venture, “Dave?”

He retreats like he’s been burned. Up off the couch, palms smoothing down his body like he’s trying to erase your touch. Wordlessly, you offer him his shades back as you sit up. Dave takes them, and you can’t help but notice that his hands are shaking as he slides them on again, smiling unsteadily. “Sorry. It’s getting late, so we should probably go to bed. Night, John,” he whispers hoarsely, and you want to ask him what’s wrong, but…

Instead, you clamber up to your bunk. Dave watches you go, then shuffles over to shut off the light. The bunked beds move as he settles in his bunk, and sighs sleepily after a few moments.

You rest your head on the pillow and let yourself drift again. Your blankets are warm, and you’re just getting used to all the new noises that come from being in the dorm, the sounds of far distant voices and the smell of half-stale air filtering into the room in equal amounts. The darkness inside the room isn’t as complete as you’re used to at your home back in Washington, but you’re getting more and more used to the strips of street light that smear across your walls and furniture.

It’s maybe thirty minutes later when you hear a noise. Curious, you lift your head, not quite tired enough to have drifted to sleep yet. Listening, you hear the slick sounds of - well, you know exactly what that noise means. You and every other boy who’s ever gone through puberty knows what that sound is.

Dave is-

-huh.

Your skin pricks with heat, and you lick your lips. Pheromones. That has to be it. Those can be blamed for the sudden surge of arousal you feel, the sudden, eye-crossing want to shove your boxers down and grab your growing, interested erection. It’s not abnormal. It isn’t. It’s just biology. Dave makes another noise and you stop breathing, held in the awkward silence as you wait for him to either stop or keep going. After a second, Dave sighs, a longing noise and he murmurs something, indistinct, then again louder.

“Jo-fuck, _fuck_ -“

Well.

That.

That sends sparks of chain lightning ricocheting down your limbs, because you can fill in the blanks there. Your name, choked off in Dave’s throat, when before, your lips had been inches from his, your hips directly against his. You thought it hadn’t been deliberate, but now you’re not so sure.

You let out a shaky breath as your hand pushes your boxers down your thighs, and you try to be silent as you listen to your best friend jerk himself off. And as you sort of... jerk off to that, you suppose.

It’s something you might be able to do something with.

There’s a timid voice in the back of your mind that says that you should stop now, but hey, you’ve never been one for listening to its cautious words. As you bite your lip and keep touching yourself, the idea just seems better and better. Dave thinks you’re hot, presumably. He wouldn’t be jerking off to you if he didn’t, and there’s something about that that appeals to you. Below you, Dave stifles a cry and the noises stop. You hold your breath. Wouldn’t do to get caught now. Really wouldn’t. Dave shifts and you wait, erection beginning to wilt as time passes.

Then you hear a slight snore. It’s your free pass to keep going.

Yeah, two guys? One room? Something has to be done.

For now, though, just for now, you breathe in deeply and start moving your hand, the typical pantheon of scantily clad women parading through your mind as you get yourself off. Though normally, those aren’t combined with the sound of Dave whimpering your name, but you blame that on the head-rush of finding out that someone thinks you’re attractive, and you come with little more than an exhalation. Your muscles are warm and loose from orgasm and you sigh before making a face at yourself. Shit. Now you have to clean yourself. Definitely should have thought of that before you got started, but whatever. Too late now.

Carefully, you make your way out of the bed, grimacing at the mess all over your stomach and thighs. You try to be quiet as you clean up. Just because Dave kept you awake doesn't mean you have to do the same thing to him.

* * *

 

"Done with my test!"

Dave looks up as you enter the room, and you muffle a snicker at the swath of blue paint trailing across his right cheek and the faint dash of aubergine that spans his forearm. He grins, lifts his shades with the back of his hand so they rest on top of his head. "Dude, awesome. If you give me, like, ten minutes, I'll be fed up enough with this and want to go out somewhere."

Curious, you tilt your head at the canvas in front of Dave. "It looks... good. What... Uh. What is it?"

"Art shit, man. Don't bother asking, I won't try to explain it to an uncultured asshole like you."

"Jesus, touchy." You shake your head as you drop your backpack onto the floor, just in time for Jade to burst into the room. She jerks her gaze back and forth between you and Dave like a predator, all short, fast movements.

Apparently satisfied by whatever she sees, Jade barks, "Hey, cool kid. We're fighting, alright? Pack up your shit and let's hit the gym." Dave opens his mouth to argue and finds one of Jade's fingers there, hushing him before he can even start. "No. We're kicking the shit out of each other, no "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Bro told me to keep you up to speed and physics is being a frustrating dick."

"So you're going to take your frustration out on my skin?" Dave asks, but he closes the caps on his paint, stands to carefully wash his brushes out in the bathroom sink. "How kind, Harley."

She snorts. Then turns to you. "You're coming too, John. You need to work off stress, right?"

"If nothing else, I need to see you kick Dave's ass."

"That's the spirit!"

You grab some clothes that would be alright to work out in, watch as Dave bitches his way through getting his own stuff together, laugh at him as Jade describes, in excruciating detail, how she's going to put Dave's face through the mat. And when you get to the rec center, you hover to the side, jogging on one of the treadmills as Jade proceeds to do exactly as she said. Only Dave gives her more of a fight than she bargained for, so they end up tussling back and forth, punches and kicks hitting faster than you can keep track of.

After the fourth time Dave gets Jade to tap out (and the fifth that she gets him to do it instead), Jade shakes herself off, standing up. "Oh jeez, I need some water. John, how about you try it? Make him work for it."

You press the stop button on the treadmill, letting it roll you backwards before you deign to get off, shrugging one shoulder. "Ehh, I dunno. I think I'll just-"

Dave wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and grins up at you. "Come on, Egbert, I bet you can't take me, even in my weakened state. S'like a gym battle in Pokemon. Your toughest pal just backed out, but the boss only has three hit points left. Bet your weak ass still can't do it."

You scowl at him playfully and step up onto the mat as Jade clears off to get some water. "Whatever, dude. You're just scared because you know I can take you anytime." Your brain catches up with you a second later, alerting you to your mild innuendo, and you wince; you don't want to give him the wrong idea.

But Dave only chuckles under his breath. He raises his fists, shifting his weight back and forth like you saw him do with Jade. You lift your hands into a similar position and wait. Sure enough, Dave lunges first and you grab him by the wrist. Stepping into his space, you wedge your hip between his thighs and _push_ , flipping Dave over your back. He hits the ground with a satisfying thud, and immediately rolls, trying to regain his balance before you can pin him down.

Which is a bit of a futile effort, really.

As Dave tries to get up, you settle one leg between his knees. Grabbing his wrists, you pull them towards you, pressing your shoulders forward at the same time to pin Dave to the ground beneath you, your weight settling heavily on him. You tuck your chin into his shoulder, reaffirm your grasp on his wrists and just wait.

He jerks against your hold, testing your grip you suppose, before subsiding back to the mat and tapping out. Dave rolls over to his side once you let him go, panting heavily. "Alright, alright, so you can wrestle. I didn't uh. Didn't know that."

"Dude, I told you about the year I took judo, remember? That's all wrestling shit." Dave's eyes are closed when you lean over him, his skin flushed beneath the darker pips of his freckles. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I just. A little winded, that's all." And he forces himself upright. You get out of his space easily, accepting Jade's hand to hoist yourself up.

Jade grins widely at you, her face scrubbed raw and red. "Good show, John. Wasn’t expecting someone like you to do anything useful." She ignores your offended stare and rests her hands on her hips. "Alright, Dave, are you done getting pummeled yet, or do we need to go another round to see if you can salvage your pride?"

Dave snorts and grabs his shades from where they've been sitting off to the side. "I think my delicate pride wants a shower more than anything. And I know _you_ need a shower. I can smell you all the way over here, Harley, what do you use for deodorant, old socks?"

"Picked fresh and prime from you, Dave."

"Look, we can't all be soulless hippies like you."

"Hahah, 'sole-less', you're so clever."

"I aim to please."

You follow them to the showers, content to just listen to them bicker back and forth until the separate locker rooms force them to stop. Still, you have to push Dave out of his furious gesturing at Jade with a laughing, "Dude, she sees you, she knows, just get your sweaty ass in the shower already."

“No, look dude, I’ve had it up to here with you west coast liberals, okay, do you understand that I, a redblooded, tough dude from deep in the heart of Texas, just got beaten within an inch of his life by not one, but two Starbucks-slurping, Macbook-toting ninnies. You two are terrible at your whole ‘non-violence’ schtick, aren’t you supposed to offer me daisies or something like that instead of fists.”

“Power to the peaceful, Dave.”

“That is not how it works, you little shit, and you know it. Somewhere, Gandhi’s turning in his fucking grave. In his wise, wise words, ‘fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.’ Why would you go against his words. You’re hurting Gandhi, man.”

“Gandhi didn’t say that.”

“Oh, now I’m a liar too?”

“Look, I can’t help it if quinoa and fair-trade coffee have led me down the paths of the rough and tumble.” You grin at him and poke his bicep. “Apparently not _everything’s_ bigger in Texas. You obviously should have eaten your organic broccoli if you wanted to grow up to be as big and strong as me." You flex your own bicep to prove your point. Dave scowls at the offending limb and rolls his eyes theatrically before matching your pose, his own meager muscle straining. You muffle a derisive cough. "Nice gun show there, big guy."

"Hey I can do more with my bit of muscle than you can with your rippling pecs. You and Harley are disgracing your middleclass wonderbread upbringing. You're supposed to be the soft ones and all, and what the fuck do you mean I should've eaten my broccoli, I'm taller than you, short rib."

Raising an eyebrow, you snort. "Yeah, taller. But you're also skinny. I bet you'd just blow away in a strong breeze."

"Oh, you got me, I have to wear weights in my shoes every time I go outside, but especially when I talk to you, Egbert. Because of the incredible amount of bullshit you spew, whoops, look, there I go, like a leaf on the wind." Dave strips off his shirt as he's talking to you, and.

Heat prickles along your skin.

You're staring.

You shouldn't be. He's Dave, he's your best friend, it's not that weird to admire the cut of his stomach, he is in shape after all. But...

Wanting to touch him is a little odd.

Shit, you're still staring.

You close your eyes and turn your head to the side because you’re straight, and guys don’t check out other guys in the locker room -no matter how inviting the taper of his hips and the curve of his spine are, how nice they would be to touch. He doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Sometimes you wish he would say something, do something, because if he did, maybe the inexplicable guilt crawling through you would go away. You tie a towel around your waist when he’s not paying attention, see him do the same out of the corner of your eye.

Dave looks at you and grins and rests his arm around your shoulders as he leads you off to the showers, rambling about movies and video games, a length of skin-to-skin, electrifying (terrifying, that’s why your heart is racing so much) contact all along your side, and that doesn't make it any better.

* * *

 

Friday afternoon.

Classes are over for the day and you're enjoying the meager downtime before you talk yourself into either avoiding your homework for Sunday (because psh, who does homework on Saturday) or doing it now so you can have the weekend to do other things. The warmth of the sun heats your shirt, a pleasant radiation on one half of your body, and you yawn widely, stretching your hands and arms out on your desk.

Better idea: Nap now, decisions later.

You lay your head down on your arms, closing your eyes.

The door slams open.

" _John_."

You groan. God DAMN does Dave have some awful timing sometimes. Spitefully, you refuse to lift your head from your arms. If he wants to talk to you, he can just-

Dave pulls your chair around to face him, forcibly displacing your head from its _comfy-as-shit place on your arms, the douchebag_. Staring at you as intently as he can with those shades in his way, Dave says, "There's a party tonight."

You match his gaze, disgruntled. "So?"

"You're going to it with me."

"Absolutely not."

"Dude, you need to fucking come to this party tonight."

"What, Dave, no, I'm not-"

"Rose and Jade already agreed, and if you don't come, we're no longer friends because you are a lazy asshole. It's just a party, okay? On one Friday night where we were going to dick around and not do a damn thing on our own and you know it." Dave holds up a hand to stall your protests and sneers at your shirt. "Also, you sure as shit aren't wearing that. Are you _trying_ to embarrass me?"

You sigh heavily, rolling your eyes. "Don't you know that's my biggest goal in life, Dave? Embarrassing you?"

"Well those clothes are doing a good job. This is an art kid party, a'ight? The best artists in school are going to be there and everyone there is _cool_ unlike you, and the only time you'll see Ghostbusters apparel there is if it's worn _ironically_ like it should be and not earnestly like you _always_ do.”

"No one's even-"

He talks over your protests without pause. "Don't you fucking dare tell me that no one will notice, okay, everyone will be able to tell by your stupid, geeky grin and-" Dave makes another exasperated noise as he hassles you out of your chair, tugging your shirt over your head with no provocation. "Look, just take off the dorky shirt and let me find you something 'cool' to wear." You're shoved onto the couch and watch him, bemused as Dave goes through his drawers, muttering and tossing aside shirts until he finally surfaces with something grey and soft looking. "Alright, put that on while I grab you some of my skinny jeans because I can't let you wear those awful cargo shorts."

"Jesus, Dave, if you wanted me naked," you start to joke before your brain catches up to you. At his amused eyebrow raise, you flail and backtrack. "I uh. I don't think I can wear your pants. You're a good three inches taller than me. And you’re a beanpole."

Dave snorts. "Four inches. Don't you dare try to pretend to be taller than you are. Just roll them up. Don't give me that look, I am qualified to give this kind of advice, jesus fucking christ."

Sighing, you do as he says. The jeans are snug... everywhere, really, and it's an uncomfortable sort of awareness that presses against your skin. You hold out your arms to display yourself for inspection, feeling the stretch of Dave’s shirt across your shoulders and biceps. "Happy now? Fuck, I look ridiculous."

"No, you don't. Don’t flex, though, you might rip all those seams But you don't look... Hm." Dave looks you up and down, frowning. Then he snaps his fingers. "Oh, that's what's wrong. We haven't done a damn thing to your hair."

You slump, groaning.

"Quit your bitching, John, you ungrateful little fuck. It isn't some big trial, alright? I'm just going to..." And Dave's words trail off into quiet mumbles as he fusses with your hair. "Ok yes, better. You actually look hot. I'm sure all the babes will be swooning, fuck, _I'm_ practically swooning." Dramatically, Dave puts the back of his hand to his forehead and fans himself as you laugh at his antics. "Is this teenaged heart throb before me the same John Egbert I've seen snort ramen noodles out his nose in public?"

" _That was once_!"

"You are _smoking_ , Egbert. Ten out of ten, would bang. Seriously."

You roll your eyes at him, try to batten down the heat that pushes up through your cheeks. "Good. Can we just go already?"

"When I look like this? Are you kidding, please tell me you're kidding." Dave gestures at himself. You think he looks fine, but he's acting like you suggested he go in an unflattering chicken suit or something equally atrocious. "No fucking way, man, you get to sit right there and look pretty while I get myself ready for my ball, alright?"

"Whatever, just get a move on."

You sit on the bed and swing your feet while Dave pulls out clothes for himself, tossing aside pants that are absolutely indistinguishable from one another. Except for that pair of acid yellow pants he just threw behind him. And that paint spattered pair that has red and purple swirled together. And-

Okay, maybe they don't _all_ look the same.

...

What is with Dave and having the weirdest pants, there are way too many chains on that to be normal.

Eventually, he decides on classic black slacks that are apparently fucking tailored for him and his ridiculously long legs. You stare at them and his ass while he searches for a shirt to complete his ensemble. You should stop.

Why can you not stop looking at him?

He clearly needs to take the pants off and find a less distracting pair.

By the time Dave is done with his whole routine of primping, he looks stunning. There's some magnetism to the way he's holding himself, the way his tight-fitting white and red shirt catches and clings to his chest as he breathes, and it makes it impossible for you to look away. You're constantly distracted by something else, some other part of him that is exquisitely highlighted.

"Hey, I must be doing this seriously right if I'm catching your eye, Egbert. Damn, way to make a guy feel appreciated."

You twitch. Roll your eyes to avoid looking at Dave's stupid, smug face. "Maybe I'm just gawking because it has to be impossible to take that long and still look exactly how you normally do." Dave opens his mouth and you continue before he gets the chance to backtalk your poor excuse for a diversion. "And if you wanna stand here and argue that, fine, whatever, be late to your hipster party and piss off Rose and Jade, be my guest."

As if on cue, the door opens and the girls come in.

"Ready?" Jade asks, and you're not surprised to see her in a short black dress with a poofy skirt, her make-up minimal and exact. She doesn't dress up often, but damn, does she know how to do it well.

Dave whistles appreciatively. "Damn, Harley. Remind me to take you to all of the hoity-toity parties I go to as a world-class artist."

Rose, dressed in an immaculate pair of orange skinny jeans and a flowing yellow shirt, waves her hand, dismissing Dave's words. You’re sure the color combination isn’t supposed to look good, but Rose looks fantastic in it. "First, brother mine, you have to _become_ a world-class artist. Until then, give it time; you're more likely to end up a recluse, muttering to yourself as you publish your unintentionally revealing webcomic."

"Rose, don't be bitter because I'm not going to make you my arm-candy." Dave goes in for a shoulder knock with Rose, but she deflects, and they end up batting at each other fruitlessly while you and Jade look on.

You shake your head after a bit. "Come on, guys, if Dave's dragging me to this party, the least we can do is get there sooner rather than later."

Dave straightens, adjusts his shirt and pants, and nods.

"Let's bounce."

* * *

 

You lean your head back against the wall, sighing heavily. Music thrums around you, something bass-heavy and ambient and probably from a band that you've never heard of. That seems to be the way this party's been working for you so far; everyone has their particular little niche of things they know about and love and music is a big one, but no one other than you is interested in awesome things like Ghostbusters and other amazing movies.

As it is right now, you've been at this party for a few hours, wandering and socializing and losing track of Dave every few minutes as he wander off to hobnob with more artists. You've avoided all of the spiked drinks that everyone's passing around, which is a relief. You don't think you'd be enjoying yourself any more with these "ironic" people if you were drunk or even tipsy. They just sort of... piss you off.

You wonder what the difference between them and Dave is, especially since you can get along with Dave, but these people are irritating as shit. You wonder, that is, until you remember that Dave is actually a giant dweeb and doesn't even take himself seriously most of the time.

Someone taps your shoulder. You turn to see them out of the corner of your glasses and grin. "Hey, Rose. Having a good time?"

"I suppose." She winces as the music gets louder. "Well, I _was_ enjoying myself."

You bite your lip to stop a grin at her disgruntled face, but you know you've been spotted as Rose rolls her eyes at you.

"Cut that out, John," she admonishes, running her hand through her hair. "Do you know where Dave and Jade are? I've been trying to find them for the last ten minutes."

"They just went to go get- Oh, here's Jade. Dave's probably behind her."

Rose turns to Jade, smiling slightly. "Finally, some decent conversation."

They chat back and forth, bitching about someone or something; you tune them out as you look around, trying to spot the missing member of your group. When it becomes clear that he's not actually following Jade back, you lean close to the girls and yell over the music, "Where's Dave?"

Jade laughs and cocks her thumb over her shoulder in the direction she and Dave had gone earlier. "Probably somewhere over there. Last time I saw him, though, he was getting pressed to the wall by someone I'm pretty sure was on the track team, and definitely an upperclassman, so we probably shouldn't interrupt them."

"He what?"

Rose and Jade just shake their heads, probably in response to Dave's antics, and you. It's like your hearing goes white, pressurized by your shock because. Why is Dave with someone else? Why would he go around and be with someone else if he has you … and the girls to hang out with? He dragged you to this ludicrous party, he should fucking be here when you want him to be. You tune back in in time to hear Jade say, "-pretty sure I heard them talking about finding a room, you know, when the guy’s tongue wasn’t stuck down Dave’s throat."

You're moving before you realize you even want to go anywhere, your entire body seeming to violently reject being part of that conversation anymore. You head outside, heedless of Rose and Jade calling after you. Fuck, you need some fresh air. Sucking in huge gulps of it, you try to understand what you're even thinking, why you're upset.

Dave's just with a guy. No big deal. You know that he's into guys. That's not anything to be upset about. You’ve known that since you were sixteen, for crying out loud.

Except for the fact that he's with _another_ guy. It really shouldn't matter how hot the guy is, Dave shouldn't go around letting people press him into walls and make out with him when he likes _you_. And that, you realize, is the sticking point.

Dave thinks you’re attractive. And you feel this strange possessiveness about him; if he likes you like that, then he should.... If he likes _you_ then why doesn't he just _pay attention to you instead of some random asshole at a party._

You shake your head. It's none of your business. Dragging your hands through your hair, you exhale roughly. You don't want him to make a move on you. That idea sends a dark quiver through your stomach that has to be disgust. You just want him to not give up without trying?

You're not sure.

"Hey, dude, are you alright?"

You look up in time to see a guy, brown haired and blue eyed and his hand is very warm where he has it on your shoulder. _He has a nice smile_ , you think inanely and shake him off with a few muttered platitudes. He goes easily, shrugging as he does.

Sighing heavily, you realize you have no idea what you're doing out here. Dave will do what Dave will do. It's not like you can just ... proposition him or something.

That idea is ridiculous.

"Huh, they weren't lying when they said you ran out here."

You straighten, startled. Dave stands in front of you, a careful grin on his lips and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"How's it hangin' out here, Egbert? The girls are wondering what happened to you."

"They were wondering the same thing about you," you say without thinking, then bite your own lip. Shit. But now that it's out and Dave's staring at you confusedly, you have to continue. "I mean, with the guy and you and the wall. And the kissing. I thought-. They thought that you were going to go off with him."

"Well shit, man, that ain't a good idea. I wasn't about to leave without letting you guys know. Plus, I'm not that easy. A guy's gotta have some honor, you know." Dave nudges you with his elbow. "Come on. Let's go back to the girls and just head home. I'm done with this party."

Rose and Jade are relieved when you rejoin them. They're definitely ready to leave the party; apparently, someone had decided that keg stands were in order, and things were getting a bit rowdy for their tastes. You are quiet on the walk home. The clear night air, humid and cool from the breeze coming off the coast, relaxes you further.

And then it occurs to you.

If you want Dave to stop noticing other people....

You _could_ just proposition him.

It's a dangerous thought and you put it out of your mind as soon as you can, smiling widely at Rose and Jade and Dave until you feel like you can't smile anymore.

* * *

 

The idea sticks. It niggles at the back of your mind, always there when you are least expecting it, and it's ridiculous, really. You don't like guys. The idea of trying to do anything with another guy is... ludicrous at best. How does that even work? You don’t want to touch a guy anywhere sexual.

But at the same time, there's something almost magnetic about it.

You and Dave. Clearly, it wouldn't mean anything. You don't plan on dating the guy. He's your best friend, after all! But. The thought of his hand on your dick isn't entirely repellant and... Who best to experiment with other than your best friend? Someone you completely trust. Someone who will understand that you don't want anything more from them than what you're asking. You're straight, this gets you experience with sex; he's... whatever Dave is, this gets him experience with guys. It has to be okay.

Oh god, you must be insane, there’s no way it would ever be alright.

You really have to stop thinking about this.

* * *

 

So of course, you remember the idea whenever you’re watching movies with him, or playing video games with him, sprawled out on top of him like it’s no big deal. And it isn’t a big deal. You're not thinking about kissing him, of having him touch you, of how that would even feel.

You're _not_.

* * *

 

(You jerk yourself off thinking about it, and you have to bite down on your noises then more than you ever have before.

You blame it on the thrill of it all.)

* * *

 

You find yourself in his space probably way too often. This isn't always your fault.

"If you want this controller, you have to give me a kiss." Dave leans further away from you, forcing you to lay more on top of him as you try to grab the Wii controller from him.

Wrinkling your nose in ...disgust, it's totally disgust, you strain to reach his hand, only barely managing to tap the white plastic with the tips of your fingers. Curse his long arms. "What? Dude, gross."

Below you, Dave puckers, making ridiculous kissing noises. "Ahahaha, you fucking wuss, I knew you wouldn't want to do it."

You dart your gaze between his eyes and his lips, feel your breath catch just the slightest bit, and- "And what if I did?"

“Weren’t you paying attention? If you do, you get the controller; that’s all there is to it.”

A kiss. It shouldn’t be that hard. The girls casually give each other kisses all the time. Hell, you press gentle kisses to their foreheads and cheeks all the time, so it can’t be that awful to just lean up and give Dave what he’s asking for, right? Except for the fact that he’s a guy and you don’t like guys, and the idea of kissing him is. Weird.

Then again, you do want to try to beat him in Mario Kart, and under all technicalities, that’s worth any cost.

It wouldn’t be so bad to just…. You sway into Dave’s space and-

"Whatever, man," Dave laughs, rapping you in the face with the controller. You jerk back. Shit. "You're just messing around, I know. Now, shut up and grab the controller, I'm kicking your ass Mario Kart style."

Oh god, you had actually been going in for a kiss.

You had been going in for a kiss, and he’s the one who backed away and told you no. God, something in you is either way too tired or really fucked up right now. Kissing Dave. Jesus, what’s wrong with you.

Mortified, you pick up the free controller and dazedly select a character. You're not even paying attention when he laps you by the end of the second time around the track.

* * *

 

You flop down on your bed face-down. God, you are so tired. It feels like your spine is trying to escape and take the rest of your skin with it.

From his desk, Dave calls, "Woah, that makes today sound like it’s gone well. You alright?"

"Mmnnn."

Dave laughs, and you hear him scoot his chair back from his desk and walk over to you. "Have I ever mentioned how great of a conversationalist you are? Straight at the root of things, all the way back to the Cro-Magnum man, grunts and groans that all get your point across. How are you doing today? 'Hnnn.' What's the weather like? 'Aaaaag.'"

You groan and sit up, and Dave chuckles as he avoids your half-hearted attempts at hitting him. "So, how'd you do on your test?" he asks as he pulls his shirt over his head, rustling around in one of his other drawers to find something not smudged with graphite.

You jerk your eyes away from him. He's just shirtless, it's not anything you haven't seen before. _Come on, John, pull yourself together_ , you think to yourself, trying to quell your heating cheeks. You shouldn't be blushing; it's just Dave.

But it's Dave. And he masturbated to the thought of you, he _wants_ you, and that. Changes something, you're sure. You don't know what. You don't want to know what. But the fact that he touched himself, got off to you, sends a quick flash of arousal through you every time you think about it.

It's just the fact that he finds you attractive.

Nothing more.

You breathe in deeply.

"John?"

Shit, you forgot what he even asked.

"Sorry," you say with a self-deprecating grin. "Zoned out there. What?"

Dave lifts an eyebrow at you, pulling his shirt on over his head. "I just asked how you did on your test today. Feeling pretty good or just brain-wiped?"

"Definitely brain dead, but I thought the test went well."

He hums, dragging his fingers along his jaw to check for stubble. "Wanna come watch me shoot some shit with Jade and Rose now? Do you have anything else to do today? It’ll be a nice change from everything else."

"Nah, I'm free. Let's go."

* * *

 

You could absolutely do it.

It wouldn't be... _that_ weird.

Which is a total lie, it would be really weird and you're still not sure why you haven't let this just drop yet. What in the world is wrong with you?

Wanting to sleep with Dave, psh.

Ridiculous.

* * *

 

Which is probably why you find yourself contemplating this instead of your homework on a Friday evening in. The girls are studying, you're sure, so they won't be over and there's no distraction there. Dave's laying in his bunk on his computer and from his muffled and snorting laughter, you'd guess that he's probably working on that weird webcomic of his.

There isn't really anything to stop you, you realize.

If you want to do it....

You just have to stand up and go over there and. Do it. There's nothing to stop you, after all.

Your heart beats hard in your chest.

Why don't you just ask him?

You're out of the chair before you really even notice and heading towards Dave's bunk with purpose in your steps. You pull back Dave's curtains and-

"Sup, dude?" Dave asks, looking up at you. Something in your face must give him pause; he carefully saves what he's working on and sits up, putting his computer to the side. Ducking his head to look up at you without running into the bunk above him, Dave raises an eyebrow. "No, seriously, what's up?"

You take a deep breath. "Alright, this is going to be a little weird, okay? But, just. Listen, I guess."

He waits while you rub the back of your neck, trying and failing to come up with some way to even _start_ this. After a while of mental hemming and hawing, you sigh, frustrated, and just blurt out, "I think we should give each other hand jobs and shit like that."

Silence.

 _Way smooth, John, good going_ , you think to yourself, sighing. Dave looks flummoxed. Slowly, he tilts his glasses down to stare at you. After a second, he laughs, a nervous, short burst of forced sound.

"John, what the hell? This has got to be the _weirdest_ prank you've ever-"

"It's not a prank, Dave. I'm serious." You run your hand through your hair before shaking your head and forcing your hands into your pockets, grinning manically to hide your nerves. "I mean, come on, what's the worst that can happen? I'm horny and frustrated, you're probably horny and frustrated. If you don't want this, you can just say no."

He frowns, pushes his shades back up. "...It's a little weird, dude."

It is a little (okay, a lot) weird. Even you have to admit that. But damn it, you want to know what it feels like for someone else to do… anything to you, and people experiment with their friends all the time!

“Come on, Dave, it’ll be fun! Just a couple of guy friends helping each other out!”

Dave stares up at you, expressionless through the shades. You notice that his hands flex in the bed sheets just before he speaks and wonder why. “Dude, this goes a little past the boundaries of friends. I mean, last time I checked, you weren’t into guys…?”

“Well no, duh.” You shrug and sit next to him, your nervous smile fading. “I only like girls. So it’s not like this’ll mean anything. And really, if it feels too weird, we can stop.” Frowning, you cock your head at him. “Will it be weird? I know you’re into guys and all.”

Dave licks his lips. You follow the motion with your eyes. “…No,” he answers, like it’s being torn out of him, an answer he doesn’t want to give. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure about the tone of his voice (or why he specifies that he’ll be fine), but you lean in to kiss him with a wide grin anyway. Dave cups your face, slides his lips alongside yours, and yes, this feels better than anything you’ve imagined so far, but this isn’t the part that you’re interested in. You grab his hand and guide it down to the front of your pants, a spark of warmth shuddering through you at that little bit of contact.

“C’mon, Dave,” you breathe into his ear, and Dave shudders hard. “Help a friend out.”

His hand flexes again, uncertain, before Dave almost visibly steels himself, grasping you firmly. "My pleasure," he mutters as he moves his hand, and if you weren't so busy biting his earlobe, you would almost say that something in his voice sounds ... excited? Definitely interested in what’s happening, which, hell yes, you were right, you _knew_ he’d be on board with something like this.

"That's the idea, Dave, aah! That's the idea. All about pleasure."

Dave's hand strokes you through your pants, and the pressure is warm, but not enough. Impatient, your hips shift closer to him as you sigh. Your nerves tingle. Your breath comes short in your lungs, hot and heavy and hard to breathe through, and you turn your mouth to Dave's neck, needing more skin against skin contact.

"C'mere," Dave groans, and he pulls you until you are lying next to him on his bed, and yes, that's better now that you don't have to worry about supporting your own weight. He takes a moment to flick the curtains closed before he lies down, and the sudden dimness makes you blink. The positioning is a little awkward, lengthwise and face-to-face on too-small college beds. Even with your back against the edge of the mattress, your knees and shoulders overlap with Dave's, and every inhale has your shoulders brushing against his heavy blackout curtains. You scoot just a little closer so you don't fall off the bed, bite Dave's neck.

That gets you a groan and Dave's hand starts working on undoing your pants.

Score.

 _This is going to feel so good_ , you think, dizzy and too-warm and utterly focused on the skin against your mouth. Your hands are inelegantly sprawled on the mattress, before you remember that you have them and that you should _totally_ use them. Or at least get them out of the way as Dave slides his hand into your undone pants. And under your boxers.

You jerk at the first glancing contact, whimper. It feels like you're going to crawl out of your _skin._

You are so fucking turned on.

If this is what sex feels like, if this fumbling is anything near what sex feels like, and you're doing it with a _guy_ , then you can't imagine how good it's going to feel when you're with a girl you actually want. You bite and suck needily on Dave's neck. The air around you is all humid and heavy thanks to the curtains surrounding you, musty with the scent of what must be pheromones and precum. You lean your head back, needing the cooler, cleaner air that hovers just behind you, outside of the space enclosed by your bodies. It doesn’t do you much good. Everything’s still hot and drugging no matter where you try to move.

Dave turns his face towards the now exposed arch of your neck, nosing along its curve. His lips press against the skin there, and you shiver, your breathing becoming more and more unsteady. Carefully, like he's waiting to get reprimanded at any second, he licks the arch of your neck, strokes your dick in time to the gentle nips of his teeth. And then he latches on to your skin, sucking hard, and _fuck_ that's a heady rush of blood through your body, but a bell rings in the back of your mind.

"H-Hey, careful. Don't leave any hickeys," you groan, and Dave grumbles against your neck, but he does release the suction, his free hand stroking your body. His touches are directionless, vague, and it seems like he's doing it more for himself than he is for you, which, whatever, it feels good. Light, glancing fingers tease against your hips, your inner thighs. Your skin quivers in their wake.

You bite back a moan.

God, it just feels so good to have someone's hand on you. You were right, fuck, you were so right, this is amazing. The fact that you’re getting a hand-job from Dave still sends these dark, nauseating twists through your stomach whenever you think about it too much; there's not much you can do about that though. You have to get sexual experience _somewhere_ , right? Where better than from your own best friend?

Dave shifts beside you and for the first time, you notice how close your hand is to his cock. The backs of your fingers are brushing against Dave's rough denim jeans, the texture of the fabric amplified with how over-sensitized your skin is. He shifts again. Your diaphragm hitches at the rasp against your skin, and you-

-don't know what to do.

He's moving himself closer, ever closer to you, like he wants you to touch him back and. Do you? Should you?

You... don't like guys. You're just in this to get a little satisfaction, to feel something new, and that should extend to touching him. It’s clear that he wants you to. You should reciprocate. _It’s only polite_ , you think inanely. Your hand flexes, and you can hear the moan that Dave tries to hold back as your fingers ghost across his thighs.

Carefully, you fist your hand in his shirt, anchoring it there.

Dave's hand pauses. You groan, arching towards him because seriously, who the hell stops in the middle of a hand-job? Apparently, Dave does, but he regains his senses a moment later and picks up his pace again until you are absolutely lost in sensation, dying for anything to keep you steady when you are adrift and anchorless in warm, insistent pleasure.

You can't concentrate.

Every touch is like lightning, and it's too much, fuck fuck _fuck_ , it's too much for you to handle. It consumes you, coloring your breath and coating your bones until the only thing left that makes any sort of sense is Dave's body next to yours.

Your orgasm rushes over you, making you bite your lip hard enough that you taste copper, Dave's neck when your own skin doesn't suffice, scrabble desperately at his back because Jesus _Christ,_ this is intense, and you can't help but whine, high and toneless in the back of your throat.

Dave moves his hand away from your dick, and it rests, warm and like a brand, near your hip. "Good?"

And you are suddenly struck with how wrong this all is. You just got jacked off by a _guy_. Not even just a guy, but Dave, your best friend, who, yeah, you can trust above anyone else in the world and who you've been thinking about doing this with for the past couple of weeks, but when he asks if he was good or not, you just.

Nod.

And try to ignore the clenching mess of nausea and confusion that pools heavy in your bones.

What the fuck even.

 _It's all just a bit of harmless fun,_ you think, and that... settles it a bit. _It doesn't mean anything_ and that settles the tingling panic more, so you take an unsteady breath, close your eyes, think, _This is just between Dave and I._

 _No one else has to know_.

It's that last one that makes it all disappear. No one has to know. So no one's going to know. Not about this, not if it happens again, not ever. You lick your lips and pull back from Dave, smile at him. "Hey. Thanks, that was pretty alright," you say, and you get out of the bed, hoping Dave doesn't stop you.

He doesn't.

You're... happy about that. While you stand there, awkward, your shirt half-on, your pants undone and hanging off your hips, Dave just stares at you, wordless, something like an incredulous smile lurking in the corners of his eyes and mouth. You laugh, nervous, and babble while you fidget your shirt down, using it to wipe up the mess of come and sweat on you. "We should do this again, maybe, another time, alright? Night."

And you scramble up the side scaffolding, ignoring the thundering of your heart in your ears, and get on your bed.

When you slide under your sheets to settle down for the night, you’re so dazed and shell-shocked that you barely recognize the sound of Dave bringing himself to orgasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three songs specifically referenced in here, and if you'd like to listen to them, here are the links: [Debussy's Clair de Lune](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LXl4y6D-QI), [Chopin's Raindrop Prelude](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_6APTb3RNQ), and down in a party in the first chapter, there's [XXYYXX's About You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-A1NyhwoiU).


	2. Not the Kind to Kiss and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You lever yourself up abruptly, bracing your weight on your forearms. You breathe in shakily, trying to ignore the swarming heat that pools low in your stomach. It’s no use. You still feel a pulsating rhythm in every inch of you that is still pressed against Dave, and you swallow hard, search his face for… something. A sign, maybe, that you’re doing the right thing.
> 
> You have no idea what you’re looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kisses and infinite love for everyone!* Title of the chapter comes from the song Armistice by Phoenix

Rose meets you outside your class, announcing her presence with a barely-there tap on your shoulder before she falls in line with your steps. “Hello, John,” she says with a smile, her book-bag swinging uncomfortably near your legs as you walk.

“Hey, Rose. How was, uh…”

“Statistics of Psychology?” Rose prompts, amused.

Easily, you nudge her, grinning widely. “Yeah, that. Another one of those classes where you secretly want to murder everyone for being not as smart as you.”

She smiles back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear as it bounces with her stride. “It’s less of a secret than you imagine. My disdain for their lesser intellects is palpable and all consuming.”

“So you like it.”

“Clearly.” Rose’s mouth turns down minutely, her lips a dark curve against her fair skin. “I only wish the others in my classes would be more open and receptive to discussion. Too many of them seem to prefer the ostrich method of open forums.” At your raised eyebrow, she smirks, the earlier humor returning to her eyes. “They bury their heads in the sand and refuse to lift them, preferring to believe that will make them somehow invulnerable to either voicing their own opinions or being affected by others’ words. In either case, they are sadly mistaken.”

You snort and grin and lean your head back to accept the sun’s warm kiss on your face as you and Rose exit the building. The wind is cold and brisk, but it feels like it’s lifting you straight off the ground as you inhale it deep into your lungs, exhilaration burgeoning hugely along your veins. It’s a glorious feeling, and you try to breathe it in as much as you can, let it settle into your bones to stay with you for a while. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

TG: hey egbert  
TG: you out of class yet

“Is that my brother?”

You nod as you tap out your answer, looking up just in time to avoid running face-first into the door that Rose is holding open for you. She rolls her eyes, fond, and you return to messaging Dave as you two stand in line for the cafeteria.

EB: hey, are we still meeting for lunch?  
TG: fuck yeah man you owe me a goddamned turkey sandwich for despoiling my virtue didnt you know  
TG: dont think youre getting out of it so easy you lazy shit

You grin down at your phone and head over to the sandwich table. Good. Nothing’s weird. Exactly how you knew it was going to be. Rose shoots you a curious look, but you ignore her as you order Dave his “goddamned turkey sandwich.”

“Good news?” she asks, eyes intent on the cashier wrapping the food.

“Eh.” You shrug, take the sandwich with a smile. “I guess. This really has just been great. This year, being here instead of my other college, just. All of it.”

Rose stares at you and you shift your shoulders slightly, unnerved all of a sudden. You don’t like it when she does that because she looks like she’s taking you apart, layer by layer. But by the time she opens her mouth to say something, you’ve reached Dave and you hurry to sit down beside him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, elbows you in the side, grins when you pass over his food, and see, Dave doesn’t seem affected by this at all! It’s going to be fine; you wish you could tell Rose.

(Your heart pounds at his closeness, because all you can remember is his lips under yours and his hand on your cock.)

But Rose's eyes are still on you as you eat, and her staring only stops when she is distracted by Dave and Jade, asking about her day and her classes. You try not to act too relieved, but you're sure you failed, especially when Dave leans over at one point and asks, "She getting on your case too much? She does that. Just ignore her. S'what I do."

You smile slightly, your voice low as you answer. "Just a bit. It's alright, though. She's just being Rose and finding problems where there really aren’t any."

"Ooh, I smell deflection. What, is the masterful John Egbert having difficulty in one of his classes?"

Jade perks up across the table and leans forward on her elbows, suddenly attentive to what you and Dave are talking about. "Is it physics? Or electronics? I bet I could help if it was."

"It's not, okay? I'm just. Biology, okay? This stuff is a bit tougher than I remember it being."

Rose snorts, but she doesn't look up and somehow, her derision is stronger for that. "It _is_ college, John. You do need to pay more attention in your classes. Finals are coming up."

You frown at her, then roll your eyes and shake your head. "Just means I have to study, Rose. I know that, okay?"

"Yeah, lay off him, Lalonde. We all know that we're going home in a few weeks. Don't make our salvation seem farther away than it already is."

Jade grins and bounces in her seat as Rose primly tucks a stray strand of light hair behind her ear. Eagerly, Jade rests her chin on her hands. "Are we doing shit for Christmas for each other? We should totally do Christmas things for each other."

At that, finally, the tension riding on Rose's shoulders dissipates, and she looks up, a faint smile curling her mouth. "Yes, I agree. Presents are in order. I vote, however, we abstain from presenting them until the beginning of next semester, for that will allow less doubling of gifts from family and friends."

"Same here. If I get swag, I want it to be _new_ swag."

You and Jade both groan at Dave. "Dude," Jade says, scowling playfully, "just for that, you're getting something from the little girl's section at Wal-Mart."

Seemingly unfazed, Dave just shrugs. "Aw, Harley, you do love me. Just make sure it’s not something Bro got me. You know how he is about Christmas shopping." At your blank look, he elaborates, "If he can't shop for you in the kid's aisles, there's nothing he can get for you."

"He is _so_ weird," you sigh.

"Yeah, don't tell him that, he'll only agree with you." Dave looks at his phone and groans, pushing himself up. "Well, shit, I hate to break up the party here, but I have class to get to. See you later, John, ladies." And with that, Dave knocks his knuckles against you shoulder, walks away to his next class, and you watch him until you're not able to see him anymore. When you turn around again, Jade and Rose both show varying degrees of understanding and your heart stutters slightly. There's no way they could guess. None. Unless you've been obvious. Which you haven't, clearly, you just.

Thinking back to how you've been acting around Dave, you bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly worried. You exhale sharply and run a hand through your hair.

You can’t stop staring at him.

That. Might be a problem.

* * *

Over the next few days, you notice your own hyper-awareness of Dave.

Any time Dave is in a room with you, he’s near you or you know exactly where he is, because you’re always watching him. You two are closer than ever, shoulder to hip even in public now, and you can’t stop thinking about all the things you can get him to do to you now. When you’re alone, you know he’s watching you too.

The girls could be catching on.

And yet you can't bring yourself to stop.

* * *

Midday Thursday.

You’re done with your lab and you’re waiting, feet up on your desk, for Dave to get back from his classes so you can have lunch together.

You’ve also had a low buzz of arousal burning under your skin since you woke up.

A clicking sound comes from the door. Dave pushes it open, and you drop your feet to the floor, turn to smile at him, and. Well. When you see him, the idea that you’ve had on simmer in the back of your mind comes into full focus. Along with the uncontrollable urge to just, push Dave against the wall and get his hands on you again.

Which sounds like a fucking great idea.

So you stand up and stalk towards him, not paying any attention to his vague grumbling about his day so far. He trails off as you get closer, and you hear a beat of silence right before you reach him, lean up to mouth along the line of his jaw. You press your body against his, and fuck, yes, this is what you were looking for, this heat and adrenaline. You’re backing Dave into the door, rubbing yourself on him, and god, you want his hands on your dick. That might settle the static under your skin.

“Woah, hello John, is there something I can-” and Dave’s words are cut off with a hitched gasp as your teeth scrape the side of his neck.

“Dave, come _on_ ,” you whisper, arching your hips against his thigh again. “I know you’re not _that_ dumb seriously.” And Dave snorts, hikes his leg up so you have a better angle on friction. It’s a low, unsteady rhythm, dragging and pushing with a sort of indulgence in the feeling as you get harder. You start undoing the fly of your jeans, and he nudges your hands out of the way, pulling your cock free.

Your nails dig into his hips.

“Is this what you’re after, John?” he asks lowly, his mouth against your ear. “My hand on your dick?” He starts pumping you slowly, his grip firm. You growl, shift impatiently because he’s not doing it fast enough. “Jesus, you’re eager. What the hell got under your skin today?”

But Dave obligingly speeds up without waiting for your answer, until you’re left grasping at one shoulder and one hip for balance, one of his legs still pressed between your thighs, a solid point for you to rock against. God, yes. This feels so amazing, a fire you can’t recreate on your own. Pleasure builds up in you, like a hot pressure woven into your muscles, pulsating to the tempo created by Dave’s hand.

You come messily, all of the tension spilling out of you with short jerks and whines that leave only a sweet ache in their wake.

You’re breathing heavy when you finally step back, and you lick your lips, grin. Dave looks like an absolute mess with his shirt rucked up and come staining his clothes, the marks you left on his neck fading to a light red. “Well that’s one hell of a welcome home,” Dave laughs unevenly, dragging his hand through his hair before he makes a face. “Ugh. Bad idea. Uh. Shower, then lunch sound good to you?”

“You go ahead and get the shower.” Your smile turns slightly wicked. “ _I’m_ all clean, so I’ll just wait for you for lunch.”

Dave inhales shakily, a dark flush covering his face. “Right. Okay, I’ll be out in just a few.”

You flick your eyes down to where his erection is pressing against his jeans. Quirk an eyebrow. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

This, you decide as Dave hurries to the bathroom, is a very good day.

* * *

“Dude, no, no, like this, come on, you can’t honestly suck that bad at this bullshit. Here, pass me the goddamned controller, I bet I can beat your score while I’m laying like this.”

“You know,” you say, scowling down at Dave, “Skyrim doesn't really have scores. And maybe _my_ score would’ve been better if I didn’t have you lounging in my lap.”

“No, fuck that, I am an over-entitled cat, now pass me the controller and let me show you how this game is played. The score is how much better I am at this than you are, you pitiful excuse for a Dovahkiin.” Dave makes insistent grabbing motions with his hands, though he doesn’t take his eyes away from the screen, and fuck, you can feel the warmth of his breaths and laughter on your thighs.

You groan, but pass him the controller regardless. “It’s _Skyrim_! There isn’t a way to play the game wrong!”

“And yet somehow, Egbert, you manage.”

He yelps and fails his pickpocketing check when you pinch his thigh for that. After bribing the guards (and you laugh at his disgruntled expression through it all), Dave pauses the game. Dave pushes himself up, ruffles your hair, and heads into the bathroom.

It's all you can do to not demand that he get back here immediately because you feel so empty without him there against your skin. You don't want to examine the emotion too much. It's weird, you admit that. You just. Like it when he's touching you. It makes you feel grounded. You guys were _always_ a little tactile and you don’t think the recent, uh, _expansion_ of your relationship affected you that much.

There's a flush of water, and bathroom door opens. Dave steps out, sighs heavily, and walks over to lay down on top of you again.

"Hey, knock it off," you protest half-heartedly, shoving at his shoulders. But Dave just chuckles and skims his hand up your side and settles his knee between your thighs and-

Fuck, your entire body is too aware of him.

You feel every puff of air against your neck like a bolt of electricity.

His weight on top of you is unbearable. Not because he's heavy, because Dave is built like a stack of sticks, but just because you're so. Aware. Of him. On you. And you're trying to will away your erection before he notices, before it gets awkward only... now it won't, will it? He's supposed to experiment with you. Surely something on the couch counts...?

You deliberately shift to press your dick against him. Dave props himself up on one elbow, lifts an eyebrow at you, but you can see the interested curve of his mouth, the way he licks his lips before he starts to speak. You lean forward to taste his words on your mouth.

The door opens.

"Are you ready for this, guys? Studio Ghibli movie marathon galore!" Jade cheers excitedly.

"Hey," Dave calls, his voice rumbling on top of you. He doesn't seem nearly as concerned about untangling the two of you as you are, and when it becomes apparent that you can't get free of him without dislocating something, you slump back down. Resignedly, you wave at the girls. "Come on in and sit down. Hate to say that the couch is occupado, but the two of us are barnacled to this and in it for the long haul."

You wince at Dave's wording.

Rose looks between the two of you and raises an eyebrow; Jade walks over just to sock you in the shoulder for hogging the couch before she settles down on the floor; you suppose it’s a similar message, and really, you don’t want to ask any further questions. For now, you grumble and shift so Dave’s elbow isn’t in your side anymore and turn your head to see the T.V. screen while Rose sets up the movie.

Dave’s hair tickles the hollow of your throat as he shifts, and you swallow hard as his hand slips under your shirt.

You feel it against your side with a burning awareness, pulsating with your thrumming heartbeat.

It makes watching the movie almost impossible.

* * *

"So are you going home for Christmas?"

You look up at Dave, and you're both amused and worried by the amount of effort it takes for you to focus on his face. Everything keeps wanting to turn into letters and numbers and incomprehensible bullshit about biology. You think you might need a break from studying for finals. Sighing, you lean back, lacing your arms behind your head. "Yeah," you finally answer. "I think Dad might actually murder me if I didn't, though. He has a bad case of empty nest syndrome."

A smile quirks Dave's lips. "He only calls you every other day now, Egbert. I can't see where you're getting this from."

"I know, right. But yeah, I'm headed back to Washington for a few weeks. You?"

"Bro would've embedded the plane tickets to the door with a katana if he'd been here, but since he wasn't, he had to settle for mailing them to me and sending me a virtual ninja attack."

Your mouth opens. Closes. “Wait, he. He _what?_ ”

Dave sighs, put out, and rubs his eyes under his shades. “Long story short, there was an email from him with the travel itinerary and a virus that started to play his most recent collection of smuppet porn in case I ‘was feeling homesick.’ Which, for the record, I wasn’t.”

You raise your eyebrow. "So that's a yes, you’re going home, then."

"Yeah." And it seems like the grin reluctantly tugging at Dave’s lips is genuine, so he’s clearly not as irritated as he made himself out to be.

"You should probably warn Bro to not, you know, actually bring a weapon into the airport. I don't want you to get held up because he got arrested before he could even pick you up."

Dave starts to refute your assessment of Bro's likely course of action when getting him, then pauses, mouth still open, before shrugging. "That's not a bad idea. Wouldn't be very cool."

Rolling your eyes, you turn back around to your desk. "And you Striders are _all_ about cool."

"Fuck you very much, we are. I just wanted to coordinate our plans for when we leave. Do you wanna bet on us being on the same flight out?"

Casually, you call over your shoulder, "Not unless you're going on the seven am flight to Dallas."

"Well, sweetheart, you're in luck. We're going together in that first leg."

"Did you just call me sweetheart?" you ask, incredulous, swiveling in your chair to stare at him again.

Dave laughs. "Yeah, what about it, _sweetums_?"

"Sweetums, seriously? You have to be fucking kidding me. What, do you want me to call you _darling_ or some shit like that?”

"Whatever you want to do, _honeybear_."

"I hate you so much, _snookie-poo_."

"You can't hate perfection, _kitten-tits_."

You stare.

And stare.

"Kitten-tits?"

"You heard me." Dave sits down in his chair and leans back, tilting his shades down to meet your eyes over their rims. "Kitten-tits."

"...how the fuck did you even come up with that? That's fucking ridiculous, oh my god."

"I am the grand supreme master of amazing pet names, alright? Something sweet and something sexual." He shrugs easily. "Thus, kitten-tits."

You shake your head. "That's ridiculous."

"But it isn't going away. Get back to studying, kitten-tits."

"Fuck you, man."

Dave waves his hand over his shoulder in a "yeah, yeah, whatever" motion as he swivels in his chair. "Maybe later, dude. I have some shit to get out of the way first. And there are these finals that you have to take still, I just wouldn't feel right distracting you from your work."

You laugh, but turn back around. "Sure you wouldn't."

"Your doubt cuts me to the core. Maybe I do want you to succeed huh? What if maybe-"

"Stop, stop! Just let me study, okay?"

"Yes sir, Egbert, sir." You hear Dave get up and pace around the room again. He wanders over to you and lightly punches you in the shoulder, the impact barely registering. "We still on for video games with Jade later tonight?"

You frown, biting the inside your lip as you mumble, tracking your finger down the textbook page. “Is she serious about that? It’s finals week for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Jade. She has her shit all together; she expects the rest of us to have ours together too.”

"Mm-hmm, that’s a pipe-dream if I ever heard one. But she'd kill me if I backed out on her. I’ll try to make it." Quickly, you zero in on a paragraph that you know for certain your professor mentioned in class, and you start copying down the information there.

"Okay. Yeah, good. Just remember that you can't study forever, okay?" Dave says, his voice muffled. You hear him climb into his bunk and shut his curtains, and you raise your eyebrow. You have no idea what he even wants to do in there, but eh, whatever, you have your own things to worry about.

You bend back to the task at hand.

* * *

You're ready to leave.

Your suitcase is packed, your room is ... not quite clean yet, but you'll be back in January to fix that. Your finals are all done, thank god. There are endless things that you can go on about, but you're ready to go. Or are you? Running your hand through your hair, you sigh heavily. "Shit." You have to remember if you have everything.

Clothes, check; toothbrush, to be packed in the morning; blankets, on top of your bed, duh but you’re not going to forget those; MP3 player, charging and ready to be grabbed in the morning. You haven't forgotten anything except....

Hairbrush. Of course. You hurry towards the bathroom.

The door opens, and you look over your shoulder as you pull the hairbrush out of the cabinet. "Dave?"

"Yeah, dude. I'm here, and guess what?" There's a loud thump as he drops his bag and you walk out of the bathroom just in time for him to grin at you, all teeth and hands spread wide and low. "It is nine pm, and I am all done, mah boy. I am fucking _done_ with finals."

You high-five him, completely expecting the hand-shake bro hug awkward whatever the hell Dave pulls you into afterwards. "Three semesters down," you say once he finally lets you go, clapping his shoulder. "Five more to go."

Dave groans, pushing his shades up high on his head. "Don't say it like that, John. You're going to make it seem like it's all going too fast. Maybe I want to stay in this shithole of debt forever." But he shakes his head and wanders over to his shelf of drawers, haphazardly pulling out clothes. You hoist yourself onto his bunk, careful to not hit your head, watch him start packing.

"Did you notice," you begin after a few moments of quiet, "that there was a definite aura of depression, desperation, and body odor over the campus these last few days?"

Surveying a shirt, Dave grunts. "Finals week does that here. Everyone gets really fucking intense. Partially because half of them are desperately trying to salvage what little of their grade they can and for some reason, that makes them forget to shower. If I was one of those teachers, I'd offer them a raised grade if they bathed instead."

You laugh, kick your feet out a little, watch Dave toss clothes onto his suitcase. "Aren't you going to fold those first?"

"Nah, first I'm going to get them out of the drawers. Then I'll shove them however they'll fit in the suitcase." Dave throws another piece of clothing -underwear, you think- onto his rapidly growing pile.

"A very clear plan."

Dave shoots you a grin before he keeps on with his packing. "Look, I'm not Rose, okay? She might be my sister, but I don't make lists like she does."

You wrinkle your nose. "She has a list? That's. Why does she do that?"

"To make sure she doesn't forget anything? That's normally why she does it, and I'll give her this: she hasn't forgotten anything yet. Unlike me. I always end up without socks or some shit like that."

"Socks!" Fuck, you _knew_ you forgot something else! You hop off Dave' bed and scurry over to your dresser, Dave's laughter filling the room. Grabbing your socks from the top drawer, you shake them at him, scowling. "Hey, don't laugh. Socks are important."

"You are such a goober," he mutters under his breath as he looks over the mess that he's made on top of his suitcase. "I think that's enough."

Eyeing the massive pile, you stuff your socks into your bag. "Need any help with that?"

"Nah, maybe just put on a movie or something while I'm putting all of this away. Something animated. Miyazaki, maybe."

You tap along the spines of the DVDs you both own, tilting your head to read them. "Spirited Away?"

He grunts an affirmative and you stick the disc in the player. After turning off the light (and giggling quietly to yourself at Dave's grumbling), you settle onto the couch, pulling a blanket over your shoulders.

The movie passes quickly, Dave finishing up his packing before Chihiro gets to the bathhouse, and he pushes and prods you until you give way and let him take part of your blanket. You finish the movie in relative silence, enjoying the sudden lack of stress bearing down on your shoulders. You're packed, you're done with finals. You're good to go, nothing else to worry about.

You stretch and stand up. "Man, I am so ready to be home tomorrow. You ready to go to bed?"

There's a strangely loaded silence.

Dave stands up behind you, and his tone is hesitant as he asks, "Can we try something? Since we're leaving tomorrow?"

"Hm?" you ask, turning off the TV before turning towards him. In the sudden darkness of the room, you think you see Dave lick his lips, motion over to your bunked beds.

"John, go sit on the bed."

Your pulse kicks up, sudden and loud, and you stare at him. "Dave?" you venture a moment later, but he holds up his hand to stall any other words you have.

Quietly, he says, "Go sit on the bed." And his expression is serious and patient, his voice oddly resonant, and you tell yourself that you are not anticipatory, you're not expecting anything from this but you know you're lying because you know what he wants. But you don't want what he's offering; it was supposed to be a thing that happened only when _you_ wanted it to happen.

You do as he says anyway.

You hop onto the bottom bunk. Dave watches you, silent as he takes off his shades and puts them to the side, his motions faint in the glow coming from the window. The light catches on his edges, silhouetting him. You can see the plane of his cheek, the bow of his mouth, the curve of his shoulder. The arch of his torso as Dave slowly pulls his shirt over his head, and god, you're staring. You're staring so much, and you can't bring yourself to look away; Dave has to notice. He has to. There's no way he doesn't know that you're watching him.

But then again, that's probably the point. He wants you to watch him. And it's ridiculous, really, how attracted you are to him since you've started this whole thing. You blame it on associating Dave with sex now. That has to be it because any other option just can’t be true. You know yourself, you know what you like, and thinking Dave’s attractive is a result of what he’s doing more than anything else.

You should probably stop him.

Dave takes a few measured steps towards you, and almost on instinct, you find your knees spreading to give him space, letting him in and closer. You lean back on your hands, fisting them tightly in the sheets.

He stands between your legs, and god, you can feel your heartbeat everywhere, tiny, quick pulses of over-sensitization. Your breaths come faster and shorter, hitched with anticipation; Dave's are too, you can feel them on your face, hear them as he leans forward towards you. Dave places his hands to either side of your hips. You try not to jump, but.

Your gaze flicks down to his mouth.

Back up.

His eyes are dilated in the low light of the room, wide and dark, and god, you're breathing like you've been running for miles and yet he hasn't moved. Dave hasn't even touched you. You close your eyes, open them again a half-second later because you have to see what he's doing. There's no way you're missing any of this.

You have to keep watching him.

You jump when Dave lays his hand gently on the back of your neck, a short exhale accompanying the contact. Slowly, he slides his hand up to cup your cheek, guides you in closer to his face, like you're about to startle at any given moment.

(You hate feeling like he's right about that too.)

Dave kisses you.

Your breathing doesn't slow, just quivers more in your lungs and bones as you shake and try to kiss him back, gently close-mouthed and uncertain. Something about this just screams at you to be slow, to pull Dave on top of you and let him do what he wants. You almost do that, but Dave pushes closer, his chest brushing against yours now, his other hand pushing your shirt up, tracing your side lightly.

Fuck.

Fuck, your skin hitches, the skittering contact electrifying and too-much-not-enough. You jerk, end up closer to him, holding tight to his belt loops and pulling him against you. "What... did you want to do?" you ask, trying to muffle your whimper when you feel your own breath reflected back from his lips.

"This." Dave presses his lips to yours again, and again, and again, the kiss deepening each time, slow and drugging and you go easily when he presses you back. Dave pushes himself onto the bed, one knee between your legs as he settles on top of you. His body is warm, so warm, and god, it doesn't seem to matter how near he is, he needs to be closer to you. You bring your hands up to his shoulders, shifting accommodatingly when Dave rucks your shirt up more, pulls it over your head.

The touch of his skin on yours, pressed together from waist to shoulder, makes you arch nearer to him. Every breath you take smells like Dave and is warm with arousal (and the shocked part of your brain that isn't above making side comments blames everything that's happening on pheromones and that's... all this is, right? No one would be able to stop anything if someone was kissing them like Dave is kissing you).

(It's an excuse; you know it is, but you think it anyway, think it still as Dave slides his tongue against yours.)

Dave's hands skirt your hips, dipping below your waistband in a fly-by tease. You can't help the jerk that elicits from you, and he laughs. You start to grumble at him, but the impulse is lost when Dave bites your lip, a sudden sharp warmth, and the noise turns into a groan instead. You think you try to say his name, but it's lost as he travels down your neck and torso, his mouth hot and wet and fuck, you can't concentrate, you just lean back and arch yourself towards him in any way you can. He pauses when he gets to your pants, sucking a dark bruise into your hipbone (which you didn't know was sensitive, but _holy shit_ ) as he unzips your pants and slides them down your legs.

His breath is so warm. You don't know why you're fixating on that, but it's odd and foreign, having someone else's mouth down there, damp and fluttering sensations with every exhale. Dave breathes out.

You're shaking.

You feel like you can't get enough air, every breath too short and heady, not enough oxygen making it to your lungs. Dave hovers over your freed cock, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin, and you suck in a breath, using it all to force out a question. You really, really hope that the answer is what you think it is because hello, Dave’s mouth, your dick, close proximity, you _really_ want this to lead to a blowjob.  "Dave, what are you doing?"

Dave licks his lips (which makes your hips buck upwards slightly). "Look, just. Tell me if this is too much, alright?"

"Wha-?"

And you inhale sharply as he sucks your cock into his mouth, your hands shooting to grab his hair.

_Fuck._

You thought having his breath tease you was bad enough, but it's nothing compared to how it feels now that his mouth is all around you. Dave takes you down slowly, though you can't help but to hitch your hips up towards his mouth. He backs off a little at that. Dave pumps your cock while he breathes in, out. When he finally takes you in his mouth again, you soften your grasp on his hair and try to not move. It feels too good to stop.

When Dave laves his tongue across your dick, you think, illogically, that it's a reward for good behavior. You curl your hands in his hair harder, wanting him to take you, wanting to see his lips stretched around the base of your cock, wanting things you don't know the name for, except that it all boils down to _Dave_.

You whine when he pulls off a few minutes later. You were enjoying the attention, damn it. Dave hushes you, moves himself up so he has a better grip on your dick as he starts jacking you off, and you pull at him, wanting. What you want, you don't know. Everything's too warm and too much for you to concentrate; you just want _Dave_.

It's... close, in a word. You'd almost say intimate, but it's Dave, right? Intimate is saved for... girls, not _Dave_. Still, you don't think you can focus through the haze of it all, the drugging and warm air passed from his mouth to yours over and over again as his hand pumps your erection.

When you come, you bite his mouth for dear life, clutch him closer to you as white lightning bolts through your muscles, pleasure unfurling until it’s everywhere, in every mouthful of air you inhale.

You are sweaty and breathless in the aftermath, and you seem heavy, gravity weighing you down. Dave swears quietly. You hear him undo his pants, and you can feel him jacking off on top of you and when you focus on him, watch his face, he’s… irresistible. Dave’s brows are furrowed, and he bites his lip hard, only the quietest moans slipping past. You reach up, tangle your fingers in his hair again. Dave tucks his face against your wrist, open-mouthed and panting. He comes with a groan, hot splashes on your stomach jolting you out of your reverie.

Dave licks his hand clean -which is some mix of hot and gross that you're not going to delve into- before he lowers himself to rest on you, his breath puffing in your ear as he relaxes. Quiet reigns for a while as your bodies cool and your prior slickness turns sticky and uncomfortable.

Sleep seems to pass the two of you by, and you sit there, dozing for untold minutes. Or hours. There's no way for you to know really.

Dave licks his lips, licking you in the process. "Hey, John, about... about this..."

You start slightly, blink, rubbing your arm over your forehead. You're exhausted, and it has to be... "Fuck, what time is it even?" Curiously, you roll over, fish for a bit for your or Dave's cell phone. You manage to grab one of them -Dave's, it turns out- and squint blearily at the screen. Dave grumbles from his position sprawled over you as you focus on the time display.

_4:13 am._

"Whoops."

"Wha's _whoops_."

You turn the phone towards Dave, who only groans more before giving in and reading the time, his eyes barely visible. "...shit," he finally says. "We have to get up in like, twenty minutes."

"Pretty much." You let your arm fall back above your head and sigh. "Wanna just... I dunno, stay up and sleep on the plane?"

There's a soft press against your throat and you shiver, tilt your head back slightly. "Yeah. Sounds good, dude." He's quiet for a second, letting his lips rest against your skin before he nudges you gently. "Shower? Bet we smell like ass."

"And a few other things."

"Yeah, your come don't taste like ice cream and happiness, baker boy."

You groan and wriggle yourself out from under him, wincing as your feet grace the cold tile. "Fuck fuck fuck, I hate this floor oh my god." Muttering a similarly profane mantra under your breath, you scuttle across your dorm room and into your bathroom, looking back from the door when you don't hear Dave follow. "Hey, hey Dave, come on. Get in the shower. Wake up, come on! We have to get moving!"

He grunts at you. Sits up slowly and you're pretty sure that he's glaring at you. You tap on the handle to the bathroom, squinting hard at him. “Dave.”

“I’m up, I’m up. I just don’t want to be,” he grumbles as he scrubs at the side of his head and slides off the bed, stumbling towards you.

Your shower isn’t short, with Dave and his teasing fingertips and with the two of you having to maneuver around each other in a cramped college shower. Shoving Dave against the wall to get a little extra satisfaction didn’t help your time either. So as Dave finishes up washing himself off (again), you brave the chill and head back into the main room, nabbing clothes from your dresser

Quickly, you dress, shivering in the cold dark of your room. It's a good thing you hurry as much as you do; the second your shirt is all the way on, there's a knock on your door.

"Coming!" you call, shoving your feet into warm socks (thank fuck you don't have to touch the floor directly anymore) and hurrying over to let Rose and Jade in the room, fumbling to put on your glasses. "Ready to go?"

"Yep!" Jade looks around the room, then at you. "How much longer is he going to be in the shower? We have to hurry!"

As if on cue, the shower shuts off. There's a brief moment of silence. "Hey, John?" Dave asks, his voice muffled by the door.

 "Yeah?"

"Can you pass me my clothes? Forgot to grab 'em and I know that the girls probably don't want to see my ass."

Rose makes a face at the very suggestion, and you go over to the bed to grab the clothes Dave had set out the evening before. "Accurate. Your consideration is appreciated."

"Hey, you should be grateful for any opportunity to see this fine piece of man-meat!" Dave argues, contradicting his earlier words as you toss his clothes into the bathroom. He grins at you, tired, but his eyes are strangely awake. You wish you knew his secret, since you feel like someone just ran you over gleefully and with abandon. He drops his towel to the floor. You. Don't stare. You were just in the shower with him naked, of course you’re not going to stare. "Thanks, man."

"Just hurry up so we can make it to the airport on time!"

You jerk your eyes away from Dave and close the door behind you. Rose and Jade both raise their eyebrows at you almost in unison, which is creepy, and your skin jitters with nervous, adrenaline-awake energy. Before they can even ask anything (because you don't want to hear it, you really really don't; anything they could ask right now is uncomfortable and none of their business anyway), you half-turn towards the bathroom again.

"Hey, Dave, we're going to go load up all of our shit in Rose's van, alright?" you call through the door, leaning your head close to it to hear any response.

There's a vaguely affirmative sound, and you grab your bags and start heading out of your dorm. When the girls don't follow you immediately, you turn around expectantly.

They're watching you. Rose has the face you've seen her make while she figures out puzzles or her particularly difficult homework while Jade just looks ecstatic. But when Jade starts to say something, Dave walks out of the bathroom. He looks between the three of you, tilts down his shades to get a better view.

"Dude, you didn't make it to the van. Did you get injured or something?"

You snort. "No, I just was making sure I didn't leave the people with the keys behind. That's sort of important, you know."

"Psh, you brave soldier you. We can use more men like you in the army. No one left behind all alone on the battlefield with no person left to hold them in their final moments; no one willing to make sure that these _aren't_ their final moments."

" _Dave._ "

He grins at you as he grabs his bag and walks past. Rose follows him without a moment's hesitation, and you jog slightly to catch up to him.

"What is it with you and war metaphors, dude?"

"They're gory and gruesome, just like me?"

"Dave," Jade chimes in right before she takes your heaviest bag from you and pulls it like it weighs nothing, "if you are anything, you are a box of kittens. Tiny little points of pain but full of energy and purring."

Rose laughs. "Ultimately unthreatening."

"Have you _seen_ the destruction a kitten can wreak?"

"It's nothing compared to what my mother can do while cleaning."

* * *

You make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare (no thanks to Jade's fidgeting. She'll be fine once you guys are past security and she finds out she hasn’t forgotten to take her disassembled rifles out of her suitcase again, she always is). Rose waves cheerily at the three of you before she heads off. She has a long drive ahead of her, but she insists that she likes having the time to herself to think.

Security and check in is its usual hassle, and before you know it, you're sitting in the plane, waiting for the pilot's call to get moving. You breathe in, out. Try to relax back into the seats. Your arm is on the rests, fingers curled around the ends, and you're so tired.

It feels like your entire body is still this oddly pleasurable bruise, pulsating with every breath you take, like all of your orgasms from earlier are still piling up and working their way out of your system.

Beside you, Dave shifts, placing his arm next to yours on the seat rests. Dave's hand is warm against yours, pressed from wrist to the tips of your pinky fingers.

You are aware of them in a way you're sure you shouldn't be. You can feel your blood pulsing stronger in that expanse of skin than anywhere else. It makes it both easier and more difficult to fall asleep, the heat seeming to sink into you until you slump against his shoulder and close your eyes, surrendering to the sweet dark of slumber.

* * *

Jade pokes you awake what feels like ten minutes later, but has to be actually two hours since all of the other passengers on the plane are standing and waiting to disembark. "Come on, you doofuses! We gotta jet! Grab your bags, sleeping beauties."

Beside you, Dave snuffles and sits up. You're sure that if you look half as dazed as he does, someone might pull you aside to make sure you're not smuggling any drugs or something like that. You must say something to that effect out loud because Dave rolls his eyes half-heartedly before he puts on his shades, stands and opens the overhead bin. He lowers his bag, then yours, and then you're moving uncoordinatedly out of the airplane, concentrating probably too hard on not tripping over your own feet.

(It doesn't help, you manage to trip anyway. You're just lucky that Dave's shoulder is a good thing to brace yourself on while you regain your balance.)

(He laughs at you, the bastard.)

Dave leads you away once you all get off the plane, finding and scanning the departing and arriving board quickly. "You guys have to run, don't you? Your flight leaves pretty soon."

Jade nods, pushing her dark hair back behind her ear. "Yeah. And I think our flights are in different terminals. I guess this is goodbye for now." And with that, she hugs Dave tightly. "See you, Strider. Take care and punch your brother for me."

"On it, Harley-bert. I'll make sure to slam him right in the kisser. Just for you."

"Aw yeah, that's how I like it." Jade laughs and fondly punches Dave on his shoulder. Which now leaves... you.

You and Dave stare at each other for a bare second before Dave shakes his head and pulls you into a hug. "Alright, Egbert, let's just get this over with. I'll see you next year, but I swear to fuck, if you avoid my texts before then, I will make you pay when you get back to Virginia."

"Whatever you say," you grumble as you squeeze him tight. "Have a good flight, you ass."

Dave chuckles, pats you on the ass lightly (and you try not to jump). "I'll miss you too. I'll text when I land, alright?" he says as he pulls back. "Get to your flight."

* * *

It's the middle of the afternoon by the time your plane lands and god, you are so fucking tired of airports. At least you're not flying next week, you think. Too many people are here already who don’t seem to know the basics of bathing. You continue grousing internally about the unenlightened and unwashed masses until the end of security comes into sight. Your dad is there, you can see his fedora all the way from where you’re hurrying towards him. You meet him at the terminal gate with a huge smile. He pulls you into a hug, pulls Jade in next to you, and she laughs against your ear before she squeezes the breath out of both you and Dad. "Good to see you, Uncle."

He chuckles, warm and rumbling, as he lets you two go. "It's good to have you home. Ready to go?"

"Yep!" Jade chirrups, bouncing in place on her heels. You smile up at your dad, the familiar smell of his pipe tobacco wrapping around you, and you feel the stress of the last few weeks falling off of you.

"I'm really ready to relax, Dad."

Dad smiles and claps you warmly on your back. "Well. Let's head back home, shall we?"

It's a long and foggy drive back from the airport, which doesn't surprise you. You missed the weather of Washington, and after seeing all of the snow blanketing your college campus, its lack is almost welcome. You fall asleep on the way home, exhaustion creeping up on you without you realizing, and it's only when you wake up, blinking and bleary as your dad opens your door, that you even notice nodding off.

"Geez, John, didn't you sleep last night?" Jade laughs, and you glare at her half-heartedly as you get out of the car.

"Not really, okay? We were ... busy. Cleaning! You know how the RA's are."

Jade rolls her eyes as she nudges the door open. "That is such bullshit, John. Your room was still an absolute goddamned mess when Rose and I came over this morning."

"Well, shut up. We were making sure it wasn't worse, alright?" The two of you continue your bitching at each other as you haul your bags upstairs, your dad's laughter following you. With a heavy sigh, you drop your suitcase in your room, surveying the walls that are familiar and yet strange now to you. Everything is exactly as you left it, though you notice that the sheets on the bed are new.

The floor creaks behind you. You glance over your shoulder to see Jade lean against your door, one arm braced up, her t-shirt riding higher on her stomach. "Weird, isn't it?" she asks with a rueful grin. "My room feels like it's a few inches off and way less cramped than it should be."

You smile back. "Yeah, no kidding. I keep expecting to turn around and find Dave's shit everywhere."

From downstairs, your dad calls, "Kids! I made an early dinner because I figured you'd be hungry! Come on down!"

Jade leans backwards. "We'll be right there!" Looking at you, she motions with her head for you to follow. "Good thing we didn't eat. How much do you wanna bet that there's a motherload of food down there."

"Not taking those odds, Jade. That's a bad idea when it comes to Dad."

"Mmm, can we hire him and take him to college with us and just eat all of his food? Everything he makes is better than anything we can find up there." You laugh as you follow her down the stairs, the railings slick and comfortable under your palms. "Oh, you think I'm kidding? I'm not. Uncle! Can we bring you and your glorious food to college with us?" she shouts, entering the dining room with her arms wide.

Your dad looks up from where he's laying out forks and grins, his eyes crinkling fondly. "Ah, Jade, I only wish. However, you must learn the artistry of cooking yourself! How can you expect to wow or impress anyone? This applies to you too, son, girls are always impressed by a man who can cook."

" _Dad_ ," you groan as you sit down.

"Ah, always too soon for the dating talk, I know. Come on and eat now. Fill up, you two look starving."

* * *

It's late by the time you head back up to your room. Jade and your dad both call goodnight from the hallway, and you hear the shower turn on. Probably Jade. You know Dad likes to take his showers in the morning so he can shave easier. Rubbing your hand across your face, you sit down on the bed. It squeaks beneath you, a familiar sound.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your phone, thumbing across the screen to see a slew of new text messages. Your mouth twitches, a tired almost-smile. Dave.

TG: hey jackass  
TG: made it to the grand land of texas without crashing and dying along the way  
TG: though if you had heard all of the prayers and other sacrifices i was going to offer to finally get the fucking plane off the ground im sure you wouldve laughed or some shit  
TG: maybe joined me in finding a virgin  
TG: who knows  
TG: but yeah hope youre safe and you made it home alright  
TG: miss you dipshit

The smile turns more genuine, a strange curl of warmth forming under your sternum. You tap out a reply.

EB: miss you too, you asshole. i'm glad you didn't actually sacrifice anyone, though.  
EB: i don't think airport security would have liked that too much.

You're not expecting a reply. It has to be, what, midnight or later easily where he is right now? And it's been hours since you landed and got off the plane. Plus, you two didn't sleep last night, so he's probably asleep now. You kept getting distracted by the caress of his breath against your neck, and he by the curl of your fingers along his stomach. So the soft _ding_ of a series of responses coming makes you jump, startled.

TG: who knows man  
TG: some of those people couldve used a bit of ritual sacrifice  
TG: anyway my phones hurting my eyes  
TG: this damn thing is as bright as the pasty shining ass of jesus himself  
EB: then put it down.  
TG: fuck let a brother finish his train of thought will you  
TG: so yeah im going to bed  
TG: talk to you later   


Sighing, you hitch your blankets up over your shoulders and lay down. This room is a little strange to you now, silent in ways you're not used to yet, the noises that are present, off-putting. By tomorrow, you suppose you'll acclimate, but for now....

For now, you wish you had your dorm room back, and Dave curled somewhere in the room. Laying with him, breathing in too-close, too-humid air, the space between your skin warm and electrifying, that had been comfortable. Too comfortable maybe, but you find yourself aching for it, wanting that dragging pull of being near another person's skin.

EB: yeah. goodnight, dave! sleep well.

You set your phone down and take off your glasses, getting comfortable in your bed. But before you even close your eyes, your phone goes off again. With a put-upon sigh, you fumble for your glasses, loop them over your ears, and squint blearily at your screen.

TG: <3

And that. Well. Your heart pounds loudly inside your ribcage, huge, and you can feel it everywhere, a frisson of heat that passes through your bones. Your hands shake as you remove your glasses and set them aside. The darkness of your room settles in, dank and hard and somehow uncomfortable. You close your eyes.

There's a knock on the door.

You sit up as the door creaks open, squinting at the blurred shape that hovers just on the inside.

"John?"

"Jade? What's the matter, is something wrong?" You think briefly about grabbing your glasses again, but disregard them as Jade shuffles closer and sits on the corner of your bed. She's probably rubbing her eyes; you're fairly certain that's what that motion is, but without better lighting, you can't be sure.

"Sorry, I just. It's weirdly quiet in my room now. Without someone else sleeping there, you know. Mind if I..." she trails off, awkward.

You grin at her, lifting up your covers. "Come on in, Jade. I was just thinking that too."

Jade doesn't hesitate, just slides underneath the blankets and burrows down, her hair a rumpled, dark mess against your pale sheets. "Just like old times, huh?" she asks with a grin. You settle down next to her with your knees pressed awkwardly against hers, the lack of space on the mattress oddly comforting.

"Yep. Just like it."

"Remember when you always got nightmares?"

"Shut up, Jade."

"And you had to have Uncle tell you all about how Con Air ended so you'd feel better?"

"I hate you so much, just be quiet and go to sleep."

"Hahaha, you’re such a goober, John."

"Just. Be quiet, come on, Jade, do I need to tell you again about how you got lost inside a mall and ended up crying in the sex toy section of Spencer's?"

"I thought I saw Uncle go in there! Stop laughing, you asshat!" She whacks you in the shoulder, which you suppose you deserve, but you keep chuckling anyway. The two of you subside, Jade curling closer to you, her head a comfortingly heavy weight against your shoulder. Quietly, she asks, "Do you miss them?"

You stroke her hair, eyes closed. "Yeah. But it's not like we can't just talk to them online for the rest of the break, you know. We've done it before."

Jade hums. "It's not the same once you know them in person."

You think of the texts you just sent Dave -how it makes you miss him more, ache to have him under you again, eyes wide and pupils blown, heady and panting and with endless expanses of warm skin paler than yours- and swallow roughly. "No. No, it's really not."

You are both quiet after that, slipping one after the other into sleep. You wake like that hours later, with Jade's head on your shoulder and your knees hiked over her thighs. She's a comfortable, warm pressure on you, but she's not fitted to you like Dave is, and you immediately shove that thought out of your mind.

(When she stumbles out of the room to get dressed and brush her teeth, you text Dave back.

EB: <3)

* * *

Winter break is long, but good. Your dad is insufferably cheerful, as always, but it doesn't grate anymore like it used to when you had to live here all of the time. You and Dave call each other every night and text all day long, earning indulgent and fond looks from your dad and a few raised eyebrows and stifled questions from Jade.

(There is a memorable occasion where you're horny and on a whim text Dave for some relief. You're not sure where you mean it to go, but.

EB: hey, have you ever tried cybering?  
TG: sure have  
TG: aint an internet virgin over here dude lost that cherry when i was like fourteen or some shit like that  
EB: want to give it a shot?

And so you bit your lip and tried to send sexy texts to him (EB: i thrust up into your hand.) and get a few in return (TG: i moan and bite your ear) before the absolute _absurdity_ of what you're doing catches up to you and you just feel horrendously self-conscious.

EB: dave. is this even doing anything for you or is this just really awkward for you too?

You debate about sending it for a moment and then just tap the 'send' button forcefully, embarrassed and still horny and frustrated over your own embarrassment. You have no idea what to do with yourself. But while you wait for his response, you just glare balefully at your erection and mutter to yourself about its lack of cooperation in this whole mess.

TG: nah dude this is awkward as shit  
TG: ill just go nab a porno or something  
TG: never really got the whole sexting deal unless it was a rp anyway  
TG: actually doing all that stuff though thats fucking amazing  
TG: sexting not so much

It's a memory you'd rather lose, all in all.)

Christmas comes and goes with minimal fuss (but oh, the food your father makes. You say you could feel full for days, right up until you're hungry for dessert), as does New Year's. Dave sends you a text that reads "happy new year you dickweed why arent my presents here yet" and you and Jade trade friendly kisses. Your dad looks melancholy that evening; you've long since learned to not ask why.

It's relaxing, to not have any classes or anything else to worry about. You get to wake up at noon most days, go to sleep texting Dave, and the most you have to think about is what you're going to eat and how to avoid Dad’s suitably “hilarious” pranks that he insists on pulling. You can’t believe you fell for the flower in his lapel.

Though you got him back by a combination water-bucket-over-the-door and pie-face prank that’s a work of masterful timing. Turned into a great photo too, one you still snicker over when you page through your phone.

So of course by the end of it all, you're itching to go back to school, anxious to have a schedule and things to do again. And to see Dave and Rose. You've missed them like a phantom ache, like you've had part of you removed without them there. Jade was right. Talking to them now through the internet is nothing compared to having them in real life, there to lean against and laugh with. Both Dave and Rose's tones change the entire meaning of what they're trying to say. You seem to have lost your translator for their words online, too, and you're just getting frustrated and antsy and-.

You want to be back.

You have your bags packed up early, ready to go for when Dad drives you to the airport. You won't be meeting Dave and Rose until you land in Virginia, since Dave and Bro went up to New York for New Years. The two of them are going to drive down to meet you. It will be a long drive for them, but according to Rose, it's cheaper, and hey, you're not driving, you're not about to argue. Your flight leaves late in the evening anyways, so you get to spend some nice time with your Dad that morning.

On your drive into Seattle, Dad looks over at you and asks, "Now, Dave and Rose _are_ going to be able to make it there on time, correct? Because if they're not, you can always hire a cab, you know."

You roll your eyes fondly. "I'll text and ask, okay?"

He hums in agreement and you pull out your cell phone, tapping out the requisite question.

EB: hey, are you and rose going to pick us up after all?

You wait a few seconds and, sure enough, Dave responds quickly.

TG: ill pick you up iykwim  
EB: what.  
TG: if you know what i mean you ignorant prick  
EB: woah, someone's in a mood.   
TG: yeah sorry  
TG: bro nicked me yesterday  
TG: the painkillers are making me a little sick thats all  
TG: and yes im fine didnt even need stitches okay  
TG: dont worry  
EB: the fact that you idiots beat each other up and call it bonding is never going to make sense to me.  
TG: scool the fact that you and your old man bake and call it bonding aint gonna make sense to me either  
TG: and dont deny that you bake with him  
TG: you so do

You snort and tap out your reply before you relay a positive answer to your dad, who mumbles something -you're not paying attention anymore.

EB: it makes him happy!  
TG: you hate baked goods though  
TG: esp betty crocker  
TG: i remember the conspiracy theories you had man okay you were as bad as a homeless old dude with a tinfoil hat and a shopping cart full of old cans of soup  
TG: you were nuts about it  
EB: look, i still maintain that there’s something fishy about how she has her hand in every ready-made baking supply.  
EB: plus, you know, the gushers fiasco.  
EB: but now i know enough to know that just because i don't always like cooking doesn't mean he doesn't! it makes him smile when i join him. we used to bake together all the time.  
TG: aw  
TG: daddys boy  
EB: bro’s boy  
TG: damn straight son  
EB: you are the furthest thing from a straight son  
TG: like youre one to talk??

And that, well. That gives you pause because. You _are_ straight. What you and Dave do in the bedroom has no impact on how much you like girls and everything like that. Your mental plan for the future has you happily married to a girl and showing your dad all of his beautiful grandchildren. Dave only functions in there as your best friend. Showing up to all of your holiday events, maybe even living next to you.

If the face of the girl, even her form, gets blurrier and more faded as time goes on, if you spend more time thinking about how Dave will fit in with your family, that doesn't mean anything. Of course you're not going to imagine just some faceless girl there instead. That’d be weird, right?

But you've been silent too long.

TG: that was a joke dude  
TG: like haha come on laugh already  
TG: john??

You take a deep breath.

EB: yeah, sorry, had to tell Dad what you said earlier.  
TG: right  
TG: so rose wants to know when youre getting your fine asses in  
EB: oh. around midnight. is that alright?  
TG: yeah thats cool  
TG: see you then

You frown down at your phone, but you don't have much time to contemplate it as Dad pulls into the unloading dock and you and Jade bundle out of the car.

"Now, you kids be safe," he admonishes, hugging Jade and you quickly. "Don't leave anything standing alone. Listen to the people in authority."

You grin and nudge Jade. "It's like he doesn't know you at all."

She huffs and jabs you back, though she's doing a poor job of hiding her smile. "Whatever, man. I follow plenty of rules. They just all happen to be my own instead of anyone else's." She grabs her bag and waves at your dad. "Come on, John, we have to get our tickets. Let's hurry so we're not late."

"We won't be late," you say, turning back to your dad. He smiles at you, his blue eyes wrinkling behind his glasses, and you smile back, your heart twisting painfully inside your chest. "Love you, Dad."

"And I love you, son. Let me know when you land."

You grab your suitcase and nod. "I will. I know the drill."

* * *

You finally get the chance to text your dad when you get into the car with Dave and Rose. Jade hurried you out of the plane as fast as she could and basically sprinted for the exit. You caught up with her in time to see her careen bodily into Dave, both of them laughing loudly enough to attract attention from other bystanders.

Rose shared a despairing look with you before you all piled into her car and drove... home. Being back in Washington had been nice, but it's something different to breathe in the slightly salty air around the campus and feel ... _free_. For the drive, Dave sits in the front seat, twisted back to talk to you and Jade easily, his hands drawing out visualizations of his stories. Most of them are about Bro and his crazy antics, while Jade counters with tales of all of the food your dad made and the prank war the three of you indulged in.

It's a bizarre one-up contest, that's for sure.

Jade wins, because your dad's food is legendary, and Dave is nothing if not a starving artist.

And he really loves hearing about how Dad routinely sets whoopee cushion traps at the dining room table, because he also nothing if not a fucking five-year-old.

When you finally unload in the parking lot, you and Dave wave at the girls and head your separate ways, laughing and shoving each other with your shoulders. There's an undeniable sizzle beneath your surface, one that spreads when you look at Dave's mouth, the shadows and divots of his hands under the yellow streetlamps. Your mouth is dry with want. Dave opens the door to your dorm room with a flourish, and you.

Well, you're crowding him the instant you get inside the room. You hear the door latch behind you as you grab Dave's hair and drag him down into a kiss, all tongue and no finesse. Dave manages a startled groan, then seizes your hips and holds you against him as he kisses you back. He's better at it than you are, you admit dizzily before you start stumbling backwards, guiding Dave to go along with you.

"You're, ah, feeling a bit handsy tonight, huh, dude?" The back of your thighs hit the edge of the bed and you carefully wriggle up onto it.

You pull him onto the bed, kissing his jaw, neck, lips, any skin within reach. "C'mon, Dave. I've been-" You don't want to say 'thinking about this,' but you've been daydreaming about having him get you off pretty much since you went home for Christmas.

"What, not even a hello?" Dave laughs, and you bite his neck, grumbling. "Hey, woah there, I get it, I get it, sexy times now, greetings like normal human beings later."

You roll your eyes and pull your mouth away from his (warm, inviting) skin. "Hello, Dave, I'm glad to see you, how have you been, good? That's good, oh huh, you look like a guy who'd like to get his hands on something awesome." And you pull his hand towards you, pressing it against your dick with a pleased sigh.

For a moment, it's almost like Dave is going to resist, but then he lets out a tight laugh and spreads his hand. "Wow, Egbert, it's almost like you want me."

"Shut up and touch me, you asshole," you laugh, dragging your nails over the soft skin in the small of his back. Dave inhales shakily, and damn it, you want that to turn into a real noise, so you do it again, slower, harder, biting his shoulder hard while you do.

Your actions are rewarded with a moan. And with Dave undoing your jeans and shoving them and your underwear down past your knees as he rolls you on top of him. You lift an eyebrow at him. Dave only shrugs and cants his hips up, and holy shit, yeah, that feels good. You grind down, shuddering as your cock drags against Dave's jeans. There's. Hardness under there. You can feel him and that shouldn't excite you as much as it does, that should just be kinda gross, so you distract yourself by dragging your teeth over his ear and sucking on the skin under Dave's jaw.

It’s Dave who keeps the motion going, who plants his feet and grinds up against you until you shove him down and drag your cock against his still clothed body. The air between you is hot and damp, and Dave’s neck is so red from where your mouth has been on it, and he’s whining in the back of his throat, pretty little gasps for breath.

You fist your hand in his hair and _pull,_ and Dave shudders and goes pliant beneath you. Lightning ricochets down your muscles, a sudden surge of arousal at how easy he is for you, and you reward him with harder frotting, his knees wide as he helplessly bucks into the motions. Dave reaches up. His fingers are cool as he slides them into your hair. "Yeah, come on," he whispers, and fuck, you don't know what it is about his voice right now, but it sends a bolt of heat shuddering through your body. "Come on, John."

Any semblance of rhythm is lost as you thrust into the cradle of his hips, the head of your penis catching along his jeans in a teasing, rough grind. Dave's hands scrabble at your sides, he arches into the undulations of your body and fucking _keens_ when your teeth scrape his neck. It's the noise, you think, that undoes you. You shudder out your orgasm on top of Dave, finally letting go of his throat.

“No, no, no, please, please,” Dave cries desperately, using his legs to pull you against him again and again, and you can feel his shudders with every drag of his erection against you. Curiously, you find yourself closer to him, shifting so he’s grinding against your thigh with frantic, uncoordinated motions until he comes with a muffled groan.

You shift yourself so you end up falling down on the mattress, loud breaths filling up the air of the small room. Dave chuckles weakly, strokes your side with a limp hand.

"Miss me that much, Egbert?"

"Mmmm...."

“Dude, we are so gross right now.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Dave shifts beside you and you peel open your eyes long enough to register him tossing his clothes off the bed. You let him help you finish taking your pants off and he maneuvers you out of your shirt before letting you both lie down again. You're warm and aching, and it feels so good to have Dave pressed against you again that you don't even bother trying to go to your own bed to sleep. You just pull yourself around him and settle comfortably, Dave tense under your hands.

Right before you go to sleep, he reaches up and strokes your hair, and you barely register his heavy sigh as the darkness of sleep overtakes you.

When you wake up, the bed is empty. You can hear the shower running though, so you know that you haven't overslept and missed your classes. Groggily, you sit up, rub your face, shamble out of Dave's bed. You grab clothes for the day, changing into them as you wait for the bathroom to unlock so you can brush your teeth.

The shower clicks off, the door unlocks. You shuffle over and open it in time for Dave to pull his pants up over his hips and button them; he nods at you, his shades slightly foggy in the muggy air of the bathroom. You grunt in return, fumbling for your toothbrush.

And then you notice.

There’s a red mark on his throat. Dave seems to see it about the same time you do, and you're not able to guess what the expression that crosses his face is supposed to be, but you hear him swear under his breath. He touches the hickey with cautious fingertips, like if he pulls them away slowly enough the hickey will go with them, wiped away like it was never there. He doesn't have such luck, of course.

You can’t stop staring at it.

(Your mouth made that. It’s a strange feeling.)

You hate it when Dave tries to leave them on you but right now on him…. You get a strange flash of proud warmth, and you shake yourself and frown. No. You’re not supposed to be possessive of him. No one’s supposed to know.

After all, you don’t like guys.

You don’t.

You just like how he notices it in the mirror and tries to hide it, how he fails.

How it makes you feel because it’s Dave and the hickey was left by you.

You don't know what to think about it, all in all, but you keep your eyes peeled for the hickey despite that throughout the next week, tracking its fading shape on the arch of his neck. You see Rose and Jade both ask him about it, and you watch Dave deflect their questions.

He looks at you in the quiet moments afterwards, something odd lingering around the corners of his mouth.

* * *

Saturdays. Are. The best. Especially Saturdays where it's snowing outside, and you don't have anything to do for homework, so you can just curl up under some blankets on the couch after lunch (because, psh, who's getting up before noon) and watch Dave play some video games.

"No, no, not that guy, the other guy! Lef- LEFT, more left, oh my god, Dave, you suck at this!"

"You sound like your cousin, John, are you both serial offenders with multiple charges for backseat gaming? Do you have to get licenses or something because seriously, you two are too good at not shutting up and letting me play the goddamned game!" Dave groans as his character dies onscreen, letting the controller fall lax as he glares balefully at you.

You grin, wide and unconcerned. "I told you to look left."

"Smug asshole."

"You love me and you know it."

Averting his eyes, Dave snorts, adjusts his shades to a better position on top of his head, presses the start button as he grumbles, "What, I'd love to see you do better than me at this."

"It's just a point and shoot. How hard can it be? Give me the controller."

"No."

"Dave, give me the-"

"No, get it yourself if you want it that badly."

"Fine! Fine, I will!" And you launch yourself towards him, knocking Dave off balance as you strain for the controller.

Somehow in the ensuing tussle that probably involves a bit more elbowing and grappling than is strictly wise, you end up sprawled out on top of Dave, straining for the controller in his hands. It's kept away from you only by the virtue of Dave being a couple of inches taller than you. And then Dave, the absolute asshole that he is, drops it off the side of the couch, and when you reflexively lunge after it, your body drags against his in a moment of delicious friction.

Without thinking, you press your hips down against his, growling when he mimics the motion and the blood rushing through your body, the sparks of pleasure just make you want to do it again and again, grinding down and-

You lever yourself up abruptly, bracing your weight on your forearms. You breathe in shakily, trying to ignore the swarming heat that pools low in your stomach. It’s no use. You still feel a pulsating rhythm in every inch of you that is still pressed against Dave, and you swallow hard, search his face for… something. A sign, maybe, that you’re doing the right thing.

You have no idea what you’re looking for.

You close your eyes to try and calm your breathing.

“Hard?” Dave asks, and his voice has a strange breathless edge to it. When you open your eyes again, he’s staring back at you, his glasses pushed up past his forehead so you can see his eyes clearly for a rare change. They are intent on your face. Your heart stutters into a loud, unsteady rhythm as you are entranced by the flicker of his tongue across his lips, your breath coming in short jolts.

“Yep.”

His tongue traces his mouth again. You hold back a whine, sway towards him as your arms buckle slightly. “Want some help with that?”

“Absolutely,” you reply breathlessly before you tumble into Dave, kissing him open-mouthed and sloppy. He laughs into your mouth -you hear him mumble something about you being overly eager- and kisses you back, turning the kiss less sloppy. You fumble with the edge of your shirt, pulling it up over your head and-

-Shit.

You tug at your shirt.

Nope, it's not moving.

"...Dave?"

"Oh my god."

"Dave."

His voice is shaking as he answers. "Yes?"

"... I can't get my shirt off."

You can’t stop laughing. Your shirt is caught on your glasses, and you can’t move your arms, and Dave’s sides twitch between your thighs because you got stuck in your own shirt, how lame is that?

“You dork,” Dave mutters, breath stuttered with laughter, but he noses up your stomach, helps you out of your shirt. You loop your arms around his neck and bear him down to the couch’s pillows, licking his neck as sensually as you can when you can’t get your breath. Dave grinds up against you and yes, yes that’s what you’re looking for, this ease and heat, for the ability to roll Dave over so he’s on top of you, to kiss him. It might still be a little odd, but you find yourself not caring very much.

Nosing into a kiss, you giggle slightly, punch-drunk from the let-down of nerves. “Sorry, Dave.”

He just smiles down at you, fond and exasperated, and then his hips start moving and you forget all about getting your shirt caught in your glasses, because damn it, you just want _more_.

You always want more of the noises that he makes, the way he can’t help but to move towards the glancing touches of your hands. It’s a heady power, you think, knowing that all you have to do to get him shivering and cursing under his breath is drag your fingernails across the hollow of his hipbones. And Dave is malleable to your touch, holds himself so achingly still while you wreck him.

And all the while, you get bolder and bolder with your touches as Dave’s skin becomes familiar to you.

That ends up being the theme of your spring semester, all of your time spent between Dave in your bed and … everything else. Your classes are difficult to focus on when you're consumed by the knowledge that Dave is back at your place most likely, lounging in some soft pajama pants that are too easy to slip down his hips. When you're around Rose and Jade, you sometimes have to remind yourself not to get too close to him, that you can't just lean over and bite the curve of his neck because it seems like the thing to do.

(In return, you catch Dave following you with his gaze almost constantly. You make a habit of smiling at him when you meet his eyes, enjoying the way his hands twitch in surprise, as though there was no way you could have found him out.

He isn't subtle when he's surprised.)

* * *

February comes and goes in a whirlwind of terrible weather and gaudy red gifts and Dave going down on you for Valentine’s Day. Rose makes fudge for all of you while Jade showers you in video games and airsoft guns, and it's. Good. In a word. You don't remember laughing this much when you didn't have the three of them.

In March, it snows too much for your liking, making the possibility of staying in bed all day an all-together too appealing prospect, and one you take advantage of only once before your academic side kicks in. You attend your classes, you only kiss Dave when you're alone. You breathe in, take your tests, do your homework, smile at your friends. Breathe out, and feel the days warm up as time plods along into spring, smell of wet, growing earth hanging over the ground.

Pause, and slide your hands along Dave's throat, beneath the curl of his ear and jaw.

* * *

You love the moments where you do press in close to Dave and guide his body to do what you want more than you like to admit. When Rose and Jade aren't there, or it's late at night and you're just turned on enough to rub yourself against him on the couch in a lithe tease until he swears, throws the controller down, and takes matters into his own hands.

In the sullenly lit aftermath, you stretch, stand, contort your body until your spine pops and relaxes the tension ridden bones and tendons. God, that was good.

"Hey, John...."

Something in Dave's voice makes your chest twist, but you force yourself to turn around calmly, a smile plastered to your face. He's playing with his hands, rubbing the pads of his fingers together in circular, endless patterns, and he only barely glances up at you. "Yeah, Dave?"

"What...," he starts, then he shakes his head. "What, uh..."

"What time is it?" you guess, looking over at the clock. "About one in the morning. God, I'm hungry. I really want food now. Wanna go to IHOP?"

There's this silence from Dave. It's heavy and you almost think frustrated before he laughs, once, short and sharp. "Yeah, man. Yeah, I'm hungry too. D'you think we should grab the girls?"

You sling an arm around his shoulders, hating the fact that you have to reach up a few inches to do it, tug him close to you. "No, I want it to just be us guys hanging out, okay? It can be like a date. No girls allowed or something."

"A date?"

"Or whatever floats your boat. A secret spy meeting, maybe? Oh, I like that one better-" You cut yourself off and tilt your head at Dave, trying to parse out the meaning in the tight line of his mouth. You grin sheepishly. "If you want it to be like a date, dude, that's cool."

Dave seems lost for words, almost starting several sentences before he settles for, "You don't mean it." The words are muttered and somehow self-deprecating and Dave shrugs your arm off, turns away from you before you can ask.

"No, really, come on. It'll just be us, hanging out, having fun, doing a guy-bro-best friend date or whatever." You scamper around him, grabbing his elbow, his wrist, whatever works. He sighs, gives in to you like he always does, with a faint smile lurking reluctantly in the tilt of his mouth.

You go to IHOP and sate your hunger with a stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup because the classic way to have pancakes is the best way.

Dave, because he enjoys being obtuse, gets a hamburger.

Which you then proceed to argue about because you're in the house of _pancakes_ why the hell is he getting not a breakfast food. Dave snorts at you and spends the rest of your time there counter-arguing about how it's ironic, when really the answer is just that he likes their hamburgers.

By the time you've wound down from the mini-fight (and all of its inevitable tangents, up to and including theories on why your dad has a restraining order from Cirque du Soleil and what Bro _does_ with those creepy puppets anyway), it's nearing three in the morning, and your eyes are getting heavy.

You blink, then squint at Dave as he carefully begins arranging the empty dishes, long since devoid of anything remotely resembling food, into some strange asymmetrical sculpture. And then sticks a dollar bill into it.

“Dave, no.”

“Yes,” he says as he carefully places another dollar.

"The waiter is going to hate us."

Dave shushes you from where he's sliding another one dollar bill between the carefully stacked glasses. "You're ruining the zen, you douchebucket. And no waiter would hate this. There's at least a ten buck tip hidden in here."

"Yeah, hidden. That was my point."

"Psh. It’s not getting stuck anywhere where it could get damaged. It's like a scavenger hunt, okay. Only the prize is money instead of some lame shit." Dave pushes his sunglasses up to see better, surveying his work to try and find the next prime position.

You roll your eyes and grab the dollar out of his hand, folding it and sticking it under the upturned ketchup bottle’s lid.

When you raise your eyebrow at Dave, challenging, he only grins, freckled skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "That's the spirit, loser."

* * *

But the days get warmer and longer, and the imminent threat of summer vacation looms over you as well. You find yourself missing Dave while he's still next to you, wondering how you're going to survive without his close camaraderie. And Rose too! You'll have Jade, but you know that Dad is going to make the both of you get jobs over the summer; there won't be much time for just hanging out.

It's impossible to stop though. Midterms creep up. You study with Jade and Rose and Dave until the wee hours of the morning where Jade’s crashed and out for the count on one of her text books, where Rose's eyes are red rimmed, where you and Dave are leaning against each other like only that bit of contact is able to keep you upright. About that point in those nights, you stagger up, drag them all out with you to IHOP, where nursing a mug of hot chocolate is akin to getting thirty minutes of sleep and can wipe you clean of five days’ worth of stress.

(When you get back to your room, Dave kisses you with the taste of chocolate still lingering in his mouth. It's a curious cycle that continues as the semester winds on.)

Before you know it, you've run out of time, lost in studying and the passage of days and in the press of Dave's hand through your pants, his mouth on your neck, the hitched and half-broken words he does not complete.

The heavy staring you catch him at, the weight of unasked and unanswered questions hovering behind his teeth.


	3. These Moth-Wing Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, in the middle of the two of you laughing, you end up within his breathing room, and the laughter slowly fades out. You stop yourself from reaching out, but your fingers are already bare millimeters from the surface of Dave’s cheek. He’s watching you through his glasses, stoic and intent and unmoving, and you wish that his expressions could be deciphered or distilled into some form you can understand. For a second, you’re held there, immobile, before you slowly, so slowly, brush the backs of your fingers across Dave’s cheek.
> 
> He shivers at the soft touch; you watch his eyelashes flutter closed behind his shades and you _want_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter is from the song "Satellite Skin" by Modest Mouse. Thank you all so much for reading!

"I hate studying."

There's a chorus of groans and "tell me about it"s before you all lapse back into silence.

"Can't I just quit and be wildly successful already," Dave grumbles under his breath, and you shoot him a sympathetic look as you turn the page of your biology book. He looks haggard and drawn, having to pump out a multitude of artistic works in the finals crunch season. "Come on, my web comic’s popular enough, I bet I could earn a living."

Rose snorts inelegantly. "That would require you putting effort into the comic instead of just half-assing it whenever you remember it exists."

For a moment, it looks like Dave is actually about to object. But then he shrugs and concedes. "Which reminds me, I should do one about finals. And how much they suck. And I hate them." He stretches back, sighing as he takes off his shades and puts them on the table. As he returns to his typical slumped position sitting next to you, he asks, "Why do schools make us do this bullshit anyway?"

You jolt as you feel a warmth travel up your thigh. Dave's hand.

"Would you like the actual answer or the school board's answer?"

Exhaling unsteadily, you focus on your book, staring intently until the words begin running together as Dave's hand moves further up, warm and far too present through the material of your jeans, distracting and inconvenient.

"The school's bullshit first, then whatever the truth ends up being."

You concentrate on keeping your breathing level as Dave continues his conversation in a laconic tone, directly contradictory to the fleeting, teasing, not-enough-there contact of his fingers circling your inner thigh.

Rose hums, unawares of what Dave is doing. "Well, the school's reasoning is that finals are an accurate representation of how well you have learned the course's material over the past few months."

"And the actual reason?

You stifle a hiccupping gasp as his nails catch on the denim, a staggering and dizzying drag of friction.

"They hate you."

Your breath skitters out as a laugh, and Dave withdraws his hand to pout at you, playfully offended. You shift, hips chasing his hand and the contact. And then you recognize what you're doing and stop yourself, embarrassment twisting along you in the absence of the easy teasing that was there before. But with any luck, Dave didn't see it.

Your luck isn't with you. Dave's eyes widen minutely. He licks his lips, flicks his gaze between your crotch and mouth.

You jump as Rose slams her hands down on her books, pushing herself upright with the furious motion. "Alright, time to blow this popsicle stand. Who's up for IHOP?"

At those words, Jade, who you thought was dead asleep, bolts upright, glasses hanging off one ear, and bursts out, “ _Finally_! I’ve been waiting for that for the last half hour, come on let’s get moving already!!”

You are laughing too hard to leave for another five minutes.

* * *

Finals come and finals go in a haze of desperation and studying, a tangible and at times acrid miasma that covers your campus. Packing up your room is a more thorough job than it was over winter break (and at least you don’t get … distracted this time, though you can tell Dave’s thinking about it when you catch him staring at you), and when you’re done it just looks.

Dead.

Like it’s somehow not-yours anymore in a way that makes you sleeping there for one last night awkward.

When Dave climbs up into your bed and curls himself into your space, you don’t even bother protesting. This room feels too strange and you don’t want to sleep alone for once.

* * *

As always, you start your journey home early in the morning.

Rose drops the three of you off at the airport on her way back up to her house, and you hug her tightly in the too-chilled and too-stale air of morning. You watch her drive off before turning to go inside, check your bags. Jade rubs her eyes blearily beside you, yawns with a huge stretch, follows you as you head through security, Dave silent on your heels.

After security, the three of you just. Stand there. Dave’s flight is in a different terminal than yours this time, of course. Jade makes the first move by hugging Dave one-armed, knocking her head against his with an impact that you can hear from where you’re standing. “Miss you, cool kid. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“You know it, Jade. We’ll set up times where we can game together, okay?”

“We’d better!”

And then Jade lets him go and Dave turns to you. He grins, tired, and opens his arms.

You hug Dave fiercely.

“Dude, it ain’t gonna be that long,” he drawls, but he holds you just as close, buries his face in your hair. “I’ll see you soon enough, and you know I’m fixing to text you as soon as I land in Texas.”

“Yeah, I know. But it still sucks.” Carefully, and because you bet no one can see you and you _need to_ , you press your mouth against his neck, trying to make that one small bit of contact enough comfort to last you until you get to see him again. Dave tenses. Then turns his face in just a bit to kiss your temple, the same close-mouthed, forceful press, something that can be passed off as something platonic to passersby. “I’ll see you in August, Dave.”

Dave nods and leans back. For a brief, insane moment, you think he’s going to _actually_ kiss you, right here, on the mouth, in front of everyone, in front of _Jade_ , but it passes. Dave just bumps his head against yours, offers a grin as his nose touches yours in a brief moment of warm contact, and steps away from you. “Go on, you guys. Don’t miss your flight out. I’ll text you when I touch base in home sweet south Texas, a’ight? Fly safe, you two.”

You smile, though it feels like your face is cracking.  “Yeah. You too, man.”

He salutes you mockingly and turns around, re-shouldering his duffel bag; he doesn’t look back.

You feel like you spend too much time watching him leave, but Jade doesn’t call you out on it, and you’re not about to mention it either.

* * *

TG: okay so maybe i lied and im texing you now that im in layover  
TG: who the fuck reroutes planes through georgia anyway  
TG: man im not even sure if you have your phone on yet anyway shit  
TG: shoulda thought that one through  
TG: oh well  
TG: my bad  
TG: just message me when you get off your plane im stuck in this hellhole for another two hours at least  
TG: crap what should i get for food  
TG: really shitty chinese thatll probably give me indigestion or any of the other overpriced airport bullshit  
TG: subway it is  
TG: i feel like eating fresh  
TG: how long does it take to board a goddamned plane anyway  
TG: fuck this sucks  
TG: yeah yeah load the screaming babies first  
TG: shit man i dont even think this is my flight how long do I have to sit here  
EB: woah, you bored or something?  
TG: psh no  
TG: just cant think of someone id rather text than my best bro friend  
TG: are you unable to handle the amazingness that is me  
EB: cool your jets, dude, i am perfectly capable of handling all the dorkiness that is dave strider.  
EB: our layover isn’t nearly as bad as yours though. two hours? who the hell even books shit like that?  
TG: my bro  
TG: that way the flights are cheaper  
TG: he enjoys skimming costs where he can sometimes  
TG: and by sometimes i really just mean all the time  
EB: that’s true. i suppose i can’t blame him for that.  
TG: hey john  
EB: yeah?  
TG: miss you  
EB: miss you too, dave.  
TG: planes boarding finally  
TG: talk to you in three hours when I land again  
EB: yeah, definitely.  
TG: tell jade hi for me  
EB: get on your plane, dude.

* * *

You walk inside the high school and immediately go back two years.

The smell is exactly the same as when you last walked along these halls, something like body odor and too much cologne and teenaged desperation. High pitched voices from people, kids really, whose heights range from level with your chest to towering over you fill the hallways, echoing and clamoring to be heard.

You don't miss it.

That's what strikes you most as you sign in at the front desk and attach a sticky tab with your name on it to your t-shirt. You thought you would miss high school and really.... You don't. You miss your friends (sort of), you miss your teachers (even less), you miss this entire place not at all.

After you've walked around and popped your head into a few classrooms, smiling at your teachers and talking to them, you leave.

It doesn't feel like a goodbye.

It doesn't feel like much of anything, and you walk out of the building thinking you might have just wasted some of your time.

* * *

TG: bro says hi btw  
EB: dave, it's like, 3 in the afternoon?  
TG: yeah so  
EB: just.  
EB: that's a pretty odd thing to be texting at this time of day.  
EB: and also a few weeks after we've been home.  
EB: without saying anything else.  
TG: nah man gotta let you know that bros all up in your regard and shit  
EB: sometimes, i'm not even sure you know what you're saying.  
TG: what the fuck dude  
EB: what? it’s a reasonable thought.  
TG: are you fucking kidding me john  
TG: come on im like shakespeare here remember  
TG: i am a master of carefully wording my prose slaving over each word for hours  
TG: all tied in iambic douchemeter with a little bow for class  
EB: you are the most pretentious douchebag i’ve ever known.  
TG: curses ive been found out  
TG: i must away to my batcave and plot out my revenge  
EG: oh my god, you dork.  
TG: whatever dude you love me and you know it  
EB: yeah, yeah, whatever you say, strider.

* * *

Sometimes, your dad has the worst timing when he wants to bake.

By which you really mean that Dad wants to bake all the time and there are more times when you don't want to humor his insanity and weird predilection to the art of pastries. Like when it's hot enough out that you could probably leave the damn things out and they'd cook on their own.

Also when you were about to start masturbating. Because really, you don't have anything else to do. Your job doesn't start for another week.

But no, Dad's desire for baking and cakes has to come before your libido.

You send Dave a picture of the cake when it's all done and frosted a few hours later with the whining accompanying text of "man, look at the bullshit i have to put up with.”

Dave sends you back a picture of Bro's naked ass sprawled out on the futon, so you suppose it's an equal torture.

* * *

EB: hey, dave.  
TG: mmnnn  
EB: wow, that was eloquent. are you feeling alright?  
TG: nah man been hurling all day  
EB: what happened?  
TG: bro cooked  
TG: decided that chicken being a bit pink in the middle was a good plan  
TG: meant more blood and more power  
EB: ...  
EB: that is the biggest crock of shit i have ever heard.  
TG: dude bros shit at cooking unless he knows the recipe by heart aka its microwaved and doesnt have more than two steps  
TG: and to be fair i couldnt remember most of it  
EB: wait.  
EB: were you trying to get him to make that one chicken recipe that i make for you all the time? because you love it?  
TG: i plead the fifth  
EB: oh my god you were. that's actually...  
TG: yeah really sappy i know  
EB: i was going to say neat. but that works too.  
TG: suck my cock egbert  
EB: that’s more your area of expertise, dave.

* * *

You have no idea when this place became somewhere you only _used_ to call home.

Over the past nine months, your college campus has become intimately familiar to you. It takes you fifteen minutes and directions from your dad to remember where the closest Walmart was because you keep getting your college’s town map stuck in your head instead.

You run into people you used to call friends in high school. You find that you smile at them, laugh with them, say that you should absolutely meet up and talk some more. You don't return their calls. You can't bring yourself to care. The people you really care about are in Texas and New York.

You miss them terribly; with all of the half-step-off nostalgia of Washington pressing down around you, the only thing you can think about is the cool breeze off of the Virginia coast, the warmth of Rose's smiles, Dave's cocky little grins.

The people here just don't match up.

It's a mild consolation that Jade agrees with you.

* * *

TG: dude i so cant wait to see you  
EB: hahaha, yeah. me too. this summer is going on too long.  
TG: tell me about it  
TG: this shit is stretching out like a cat in a sunbeam and he aint going nowhere for a longass time  
TG: cats getting all comfortable and shit  
TG: settling in for a nice nap thatll last three days  
TG: no ones gonna move that damn cat  
EB: yeah, i bet. can’t stand its potential retribution?  
TG: cats be vicious dude  
TG: all pointy side up and shit  
EB: ugh work is so boring. next time i listen to dad's suggestion about getting a minimum wage job over the summer, slap me full across the face.  
TG: yessir egbert sir  
EB: ahhh jesus, i miss you.  
TG: getting soft on me egbert  
TG: scool i miss you too

* * *

The store is empty.

And you are here for another - you look at the clock- four hours.

Minimum wage is absolutely not worth this torture. You tap your fingers idly on the counter, try to find little ways to keep yourself busy, but there’s nothing to do that you haven’t already done.

You are so fucking bored.

Chancing a look at the clock again after wiping down the countertop, you groan.

Three hours, fifty-five minutes.

You are going to die here.

* * *

“Hey, Dave.”

“Oh hey, Egbert. Wasn’t expecting you to actually pick up this time.”

“Not my fault that you keep managing to call me while I’m at work or asleep. What the hell kind of schedule are you even on in that hot place down south?”

“I’d like to be in your hot place down south, if you know what I mean-”

“Dude, really?”

“Opening was there, I had to take it.” A creak, probably someone shifting. “But no, man, I’m on the schedule that gets me money. Bro may have lined up this job for me, but that doesn’t always mean that it has the best hours ever. I think we’re going to get to the point where I call you when you’re just waking up and I’m going to sleep.”

“What, so I get to wish you good night while you tell me to have a good day?”

“… pretty much, yeah.”

There’s a brief pause where all that is heard is a companionable, tired silence.

“…sounds kinda nice, actually.”

A yawn.

“Well, it ain’t happenin’ tonight. I have tonight off, so I’m fixing to crash.”

“That’s alright. I’m tired too.”

A few more yawns, deep sighs, several beats where the quiet is broken only by steady exhales.

“Good night, Dave.”

“Yeah. Sleep well, John.”

* * *

You love how "Would you mind picking up some more milk for me on your way home" always tends to transition into "While you're out, can you get..." and ends up with you stopping by at least ten places before you get home.

Your dad, sometimes, you swear.

So you drop by the grocery store, then another grocery store because the first one doesn't stock the kind of flour your dad likes using. Then to the local cooking store to pick up some more cake pans (blech). And then you have to go pick Jade up from her work because it's starting to rain, big surprise, and Dad doesn't want her walking home.

Jade just laughs at you and shoves her bare feet against the glass and stays outside the house until her shirt is soaked through.

You wish Dave was there to articulate the half-formed snide comment in your mind, and you settle for laughing at her instead. (You go out and dance with Jade when she asks you to. Her eyes are wide and glittering and you laugh until the air is heavy inside your lungs.)

* * *

“Soon.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Seems like it’s too long.”

“God, does it ever.”

* * *

Jade wakes you up one Saturday morning, early enough that every sliver of light hurts, that the taste in the back of your mouth is stale and unpleasant. She hushes all of your garbled questions, shoves you into a pile of blankets and pillows. The two of you squint at the TV as whatever movie Jade picked begins to play. You think it's the first in the Indiana Jones quadrilogy (because as much as Jade (and Dave and Rose and… pretty much everyone else you know) likes to deny it, the fourth one wasn’t _that bad_ ), but it’s a little hard to tell when everything is an indistinct blur.

Six hours later, your dad walks out of his office just in time to see Sean Connery pop an umbrella at a flock of seagulls.

He sighs.

Walks back out again to grab another mug of coffee and join you.

You don't move for the rest of the day and it is _glorious_.

(Dave texts you envious things the entire time, and you gloat; it's what he gets for having to work today.)

* * *

 “Hmmggh?”

“Morning, Egbert.”

“Oh. Hi, Dave.” A lengthy, jaw-cracking yawn.

“Ready to face the day?”

“As long as you’re ready to go the fuck to bed already, you nut. Don’t you get off shift a few hours before I wake up?”

“…just wanted to hear your voice. Before I hit the hay.”

“Don’t you dare start rapping. I know that tone of voice.”

“Have a good day, John.”

“Go to bed, you dork.”

There’s a mumbled phrase, too garbled by distance and exhaustion to be understood, then silence.

* * *

He's on his knees in front of you.

It's so easy to just tilt back his head and thrust your cock between his lips, and the expression that crosses his face in your mind is just as glazed and wanting as you remember it being. Dave enjoys sucking your dick. You know that. He's said it to you, and god do you enjoy having his mouth on you. Your hand smooths along your thigh. You bite your lip, aimless arousal prickling along your skin.

Maybe if you just...

The door chimes, and you abruptly remember that you are in the middle of a store, and you are supposed to be paying attention and serving the customers, not imagining how Dave could be serving you. You take a deep breath, put your hands on the counter, and smile sunnily at the customers in front of you.

"Hi, can I help you find anything?"

* * *

TG: dude two days  
TG: you excited to be back at college  
TG: has your dad started being overbearing yet  
EB: just a bit. i’m sure he means well, though. but seriously, i’m already all packed and stuff.  
TG: same here  
TG: picking you up at the airport with the girls still the idea  
EB: that’s the plan, dave. hasn’t changed.  
TG: good  
TG: cant wait  
EB: yeah. yeah, same here.

* * *

"I am so bored."

The words hang like molasses in the air, and Jade barely makes the effort to push your leg with her foot before she sinks back into your bed sheets, limp. "That's because you have all of your stuff packed already. We aren't even leaving until tomorrow."

For a moment, you think about retaliating but the heat presses into you again and you forgo physical retribution in favor of shifting in the vain hope of finding a cooler patch on the bed. For a few moments, you can hear your dad on the phone downstairs. Hopefully, he’s talking to some technicians to get the AC fixed before tonight because sleeping in this? Would be impossible. "Yeah, and you're going to pack in a frenzied haze tonight and manage to leave half of your shit here so Dad has to send it to you."

"You're assuming I ever really unpacked to begin with."

You roll your eyes at her and open your phone, tapping out a message to Dave. "It's like you're not excited to see Dave and Rose again or something."

"I am absolutely excited to see Rose and Dave again, thank you. I just. It's too hot to think, don't make me."

* * *

EB: tomorrow.

* * *

You are practically vibrating by the time you get off the plane. Jade isn't nearly as jittery as you are for once; all she really seems to be is amused and eager to see her friends again. The walk to security seems to drag out forever, but it's worth it when you see two flashes of light hair in the waiting crowd, a tall and lanky boy next to his slender sister. Jade hurries past you and hugs Rose before you even make it up there, which.

Well, that leaves you to awkwardly fistbump Dave. Which you do, for a half-second before Dave rolls his eyes and pulls you into a tight hug.

"Missed you, dude," he murmurs, and your skin shivers as he presses his mouth to your ear, a tight not-kiss that quickly disappears when he steps away, turning to grab Jade and hug her. "C'mere, Jade, don't think you're getting out of a sweet hug just because you went for Rose first."

You watch him, memorizing the difference in his voice now that it's not made tinny and small by a cell phone, how he's actually grown slightly more freckled from his time in Texas, his smile standing out more against his skin. A hand tugs on your shoulder. Following its urging, you turn, grin at Rose.

"Aren't you forgetting someone, John?" she asks primly, one brow arched. She's smiling, so you know that she's not upset at you for getting distracted, just amused. "Come here."

She is slight and warm, smelling vaguely of books and vanilla, the way she always does. When you pull away, the four of you just grin vapidly at each other until Jade punches Dave -you muffle a snort at his offended whimper- and starts dragging her stuff out to the car, which spurs the rest of you into motion.

The car ride home seems interminable for how short it actually is.

Jade has commandeered the front seat despite Dave's protests, and you go into the back seat without a fight. But now you and Dave are right next to each other, and you had no idea you could be so aware of his body heat without him being pressed against you.

Dave's hand twitches on the seat.

Inches slightly closer.

You inhale shakily and turn to look outside at the passing landscape. You didn't think you could really miss the deciduous trees that Virginia has, but you did. Their greens are more vibrant than the pines you're used to at home and-

Something warm brushes against your hand. Glancing back, you see Dave staring steadfastly out his window, Jade and Rose chatting happily in the front seat. Dave's hand pressed, wrist to tip of his pinky finger against yours. You shift slightly, your toes flexing inside your shoes as your face heats up. It shouldn't be doing this to you, making you feel like a blushing thirteen year-old, squirming in your seat as your skin flashes too-sensitive.

You need to get out of here as soon as possible.

Now.

* * *

You're grateful when the girls decide to put off moving all of your things out of storage until tomorrow, citing tiredness and just general laziness. As you follow Dave up to your room, you're quiet, too cognizant of Dave and his body, all of the Skype calls you made over the summer flooding back to you, the way your breath skittered when you saw his smile. How you almost ached to touch him when you couldn't.

You almost run into him when he stops. Blinking, you look around -shit, you spaced out bad, you're already in your dorm room. You lick your lips.

"So."

Dave puts his bag to the side and turns around, tilting his head down to look at you over his shade's rims. "So. Been a while, Egbert. Are we back at the awestruck stage where you don't know what to say to my gorgeous face because you're all star-eyed and wondering how the hell someone as chill as this could be your roommate-"

It's an instinct, a blind want after that, to step into his space, to pull his head down with a muffled "Shut up, Dave" as you feel him against you again, no restrictions, nothing to hold you back. “Oh my god, is it good to see you again,” you breathe against his mouth right before you kiss him. Dave groans into your mouth, pulls you down hard against him, and you fall into him willingly. Every touch of his is a burst of sensation against your skin and you love it, god do you love it, and breathing too fast and too hot has never felt better.

An entire summer without this was too much.

You push him back, back, trying to find the bed without having to take your hands too far away from him. It's a careful balance you have to strike, one that isn't helped by his clothes still being on his body. He laughs as you struggle them off between kisses. You want to say that he sounds pleased, or startled, or really any number of things, but you can't bother wasting the brain power on it; the back of his knees hit the bed, and you lever yourself on top of him.

"Woah there, John, this is unfair." Dave props himself up, shirtless and grinning. "Shouldn't you be getting naked too?"

"In a bit," you say as you bite his neck. "I think I have a few more important things to get done first."

"Uh-huh. Just lavish the attention on the Strider's glorious body, don't worry, it's a common occurrence." Dave laughs as you surge forward, lets himself fall back against the sheets, and you crowd over him, grind down against his thigh, his hip, anything. The catch of your erection against him feels maddeningly far away and you drag your hand down Dave's bare chest just to hear his breath hitch before you go after the button of his jeans.

You get it undone and look up. Dave is watching you with a curious half-smile on his face, his arms crossed at the wrists above his head. You don't know what he's looking for, just that there's something indefinable in the arch of his mouth that makes your heart skip, something in the angle of his face that drives you to distraction. "Hey," he says quietly, when you've been still too long. He wiggles his hips at you. "Come on, Egbert, these pants aren't coming off on their own."

"I can't get them off of your fat ass if you don't help out a little, jackass," you snipe back, and Dave obligingly lifts his hips enough for you to pull his pants down. Once you're busy with dragging them over his feet, he leans forward and plucks at your jeans, flipping open the button of your fly with more finesse than you managed earlier. You push them down past your hips, flop down next to him on the bed.

Dave grabs your leg and hitches it over his hips. Your breath catches as he drags his nails up the back of your thigh, warm tingling following in their wake. Greedily, you shift so his touch is closer to your dick, but Dave only moves his hand down the insides of your thighs, light and teasing and not enough. You try to get him to touch you again with the same results, and you growl, biting down on his shoulder.

He jerks at the contact, sighs and goes lax under you. His fingers trace the crease of your hip and thigh as he whispers, "Come on, John, gotta give some to get some."

You blink, your eyelashes skittering across the skin of Dave's neck and.

Well.

Fuck.

Okay, it’ll be. It’ll be just like touching yourself.

Gingerly, you reach over and grasp his cock. It's weird, touching someone that isn't you, weird to know that the pleased sigh Dave lets out comes directly from _you having your hand on his dick._ It's new, and the angle is all wrong and awkward and it’s the novelty that sends electricity sparking along your nerves.

You’re shaking, you realize.

And, fuck, _fuck, now_ Dave touches you, jerking you off with a ruthless sort of enthusiasm, no holds barred, and for a fleeting instant, you think there's almost something possessive about the way he touches you.

You bury your face in his neck, choosing to blatantly ignore the slide-pull of Dave’s cock between your fingers and the slight ache in your wrist from the odd angle. Dave tucks his cheek against yours, letting you half-rut against him as his hand moves on your dick. There are things you consider saying while you can blame it all on sex, things that hover right behind your teeth. Like, "I dreamt of this over the summer,"; "please don't ever go away that long again,"; "I think I-"; but you stay quiet except for the groans that Dave pulls from you. You lick your lips.

"Dave, I-"

Oh god, no, you're not about to start blabbering now. You just bite Dave's neck as a distraction, the hitch of his hips that causes sending a jolt of arousal through you. Curiously (and it feels like you’re doing this from a distance, your blood roaring in your ears) you tighten your hand around him. From your position under his chin, you can _feel_ the broken off gasp Dave lets out.

Well.

Okay, fuck, that was hot. Apparently, you like it when he’s vocal, even when you’re trying to ignore what you’re actually doing.

Dave chuckles under his breath, speeds up his hand.

When you orgasm, it comes as a surprise. You were enjoying the warmth and closeness of the buildup, the skittering rush of endorphins that curled lazily through your bones, and its crest is somehow unexpected. Dave wipes his hand off on his stomach, shifts so he's facing you just a little more. "Missed you, John," he whispers.

You let him kiss you and thrust into the loose circle of your fingers and think that you're finally home.

* * *

The nightly hanging-out rituals resume as though nothing changed. Every other Friday is spent in the gym with Jade and Dave (and occasionally Rose when she drags herself away from her textbooks), and the studying and gaming sessions happen pretty much whenever more than just two of you congregate in a room together.

It's nice.

It's comfortable.

You no longer feel like suffocating.

* * *

"Hey. You know what we should do?" you ask in the early hours of some forgotten morning when you can't sleep, Dave across the dark expanse of the room in his own bed. There's the slide of sheets against skin as he rolls over.

"What?"

"We should totally just stay here together this next summer. Like, see if the girls want to too, but find jobs in town and stay here instead of going home."

Silence.

Dave replies, "Dude, that's a great idea. Now, here's a better one."

"Hm?"

"Go the fuck to sleep."

"But-"

"We'll talk about it later, John, but seriously let me go to sleep already. Some of us still need our beauty sleep, unlike you."

And you do talk about it later, and make plans to stay up the next summer together. You look at apartments together before you find out that your school offers summer housing for way cheaper and you don't even have to move out of your room. It'll be great. You won't have to go through the same needless and directionless want that you had before, not now that you'll have Dave there with you.

* * *

Wednesdays are slow.

And boring.

Very boring.

And they basically make you not want to work on any homework. For the fourth time tonight, you find yourself zoning out instead of working, though you can hear Dave scribbling industriously away on whatever he's working on. Absently, as you're looking around the room, you ask, "Hey, do you want to bunk our beds again?"

"Eh." Dave waves his hand, not even looking up from his desk. "Not really. Takes too much effort and I've learned to sleep with lights on again thanks to Bro."

"Has he been attacking you or something?"

He laughs. “That’s ridiculous. What do you think he was doing?"

"Random ninja attacks?"

"What? No. It was the stupid job he got me. I was a DJ at a nightclub, didn't I tell you? I sort of slept from six am until six pm and went to work from then until four am, come on dude, surely you knew about this?"  And now that you've offended his pride, Dave turns towards you, pouting playfully.

You roll your eyes. "You told me your job always ran late, you never told me what it was."

Dave hums under his breath, moving his shades out of the way so he can rub the dark circles under his eyes. "Huh. I could have sworn I had. Whoops."

"Yeah, whoops, Mister Strider." You shake your head fondly. Your phone buzzes and you check it curiously; it's a text from Jade and you tap out a response with a grin. "Ready for a break from homework? Jade wants to play video games."

Without a moment of hesitation, Dave slams his books closed and stands. He shakes his head back, letting his shades fall back down in their typical place, nods sharply. "Let's do this, man."

You snort, leading him to the door and locking it behind you. "You are such a ham."

"What?"

"Like that wasn't overly melodramatic." You stall his protests by heading down the hallway towards Jade and Rose's room, but you can still hear Dave muttering to himself as he hurries to catch up with you. "If you're calling me jealous under your breath, you might want to rethink that," you call over your shoulder, unprepared to find Dave right there behind you. "Oh. Sorry."

He shrugs and pushes the door open to the girls' room. "Whatever, dude, you're just mad that you ain't got a pair of sweetass shades like me. So, Jade, what are we playing up today?"

Jade eagerly turns to him and starts babbling about something (Assassins? You have no clue because you're normally not paying attention to them playing games) and you flop down in the chair near Rose's desk.

"Are they playing a horror game?" you ask Rose. She shakes her head without looking up, tapping a message away on her computer with a curious little smile on her face. Once she hits enter, she immediately sends another message and closes her computer before you can read anything on her screen.

Rose lifts an eyebrow at your obvious attempt at snooping as she turns her chair around, and you grin. She sighs, fond, then turns to watch the game as Jade begins tapping furiously on the controller. "No, it's Assassin's Creed."

Apparently unsatisfied with his place next to you, Dave grumbles and bodily moves your arms around, shifting until he ends up with his head resting in the crook of your neck and shoulder, his torso tucked against your side. "Basically scenery and parkour porn for all the fat assholes who can't move. Move, Jade, the guards are gonna see you!"

"They can just _try_ and catch me!"

You and Rose both roll your eyes at Jade's triumphant crowing, but Dave only laughs and swears more when she narrowly escapes. Slowly, you let yourself relax, surrounded by the background noise of your friends. Rose gets out of her chair and perches herself on the couch's arm, shifting until she's leaning against your free side.

Dave, carefully, like you're going to bolt at any second, draws your arm across his chest, his hand lightly encircling your wrist. His thumb rests against your pulse, and you can feel him there, warm and comfortable. You catch Dave smiling out of the corner of your eye; you don't bother wondering why.

You're at ease again, like you weren't when you were at home for your entire break. In one year, this college has become more of a home to you than almost anywhere else you've known, and you can attribute it directly to the presence of your friends. Your first round of tests are behind you, the weather is turning colder and wetter as the days go on, and you can't really think of anything that you would change.

Except maybe getting a girlfriend. That would be nice. It would also get your dad off your back with all of his 'dating advice.' But whoever you end up dating has to be alright with your friends first, and that might be a bit of a chore.

Jade whoops loudly, apparently having completed some complicated maneuver onscreen, Dave's commentary running quick and low, sarcasm drying his tone. Rose interrupts his flow smoothly (and damn it, he was rapping video game commentary, you just don't understand him sometimes), making Jade laugh even more.

...Introducing someone new into this will be harder than you think, you have to admit. They'd have to be the right person.

"John! Come on, quit moping. We have you back, now start paying attention!"

Dave grins over at you, pops his shades up to lift his eyebrow. "Yeah, Egbert, get your head in the game." He covers his face almost immediately to block the pillow Rose throws at him, laughing. Muffled, he shouts, "I do not regret my movie references!"

And you chuckle. Alright, you have been moping. Whatever, potential girlfriends can wait. For now, you have your best friends to hang out with, and that's more important anyway.

It's late by the time you leave Rose and Jade's room. Your eyes feel gritty around the edges, but you feel better for it.

"Dude, you got massacred in there."

"Look," Dave says, spreading his hands wide as you head back into your room, "There's reason why Harley plays the games and I don't, okay? I'm not awful at them, she's just better.”

“You’re joking, right? Jade is awful at video games.”

Dave shrugs. “She enjoys playing them, and I just talk a better game when it all boils down.”

"Yeah, that's about all you manage to do. Hey, no throwing things, you have to pick that up!!"

* * *

Rain greets you when you wake up one morning in the middle of October.

You wish, almost immediately, that it was one of those days where you woke up in degrees, starting with a stretch of the toes and ending with you sitting up and ready to go, taking advantage of the way the light seems to sink through your blinds in a diffused grey glow, but it's a surly sort of awake, disgruntled and too sudden. You check the time.

Nine thirty-seven.

You're already late for one of your classes. With a heavy exhale, you inch your way out of your warm blankets and across the room. A shower sounds nice. You can stand to miss this one class.

When you're in the shower, suds slicking down your throat and chest, you make the executive decision that all of your classes today can just suck your dick. There's nothing due today, and you don't feel like putting on clothes and going and being around people. You'd just prefer to stay here. In the room. Rest a little, kick your feet back a lot. It'll be nice, you think.

Dave has barely stirred from his cocoon of blankets when you get out of the shower. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, a pale cut of skin above dark sheets, staring at you bemusedly as you get dressed.

"Don't... Don't you have class?" Dave's words are incredibly slurred, and he shimmies his chin up to tuck blankets underneath it, squinting at you. "Wha' the fuck are you doing here."

"Gee, Dave, it's not like I live here too, you know."

"Shuddafuckup."

"Wow, so eloquent. You know, it's no wonder you insist people like your raps, because clearly you are the best, it is you, look at how smooth you are first thing in the mor-oof!" You laugh, picking the pillow Dave just tossed at you. Dave just turns over, trying to stick his head under his remaining pillow, one foot out of the comforter. He tries to talk, or at least you think he does, but it's all muffled and completely incoherent, and you grin widely before going over to his bed and fighting him for the possession of the pillow.

He gives up the fight quickly, too uncoordinated and sleep-weak to give you much of a challenge. Still, you ended up half-laying on the bed next to him, braced up on one elbow over him as Dave glowers in a vaguely you-ish direction. He's. You don't know, there's something about him at that moment. Something unprotected and soft.

Something that makes you lower yourself down and kiss him.

It's a tangled and sloppy contact, Dave's mouth loose as he just accepts the invasion of your lips and teeth and tongue. You pull away, your shoulder aching slightly. He's watching you still, eyes still hazy, but careful now.

"I'm skipping class today," you declare, quiet. Dave waits for the rest of it with an imperiously raised eyebrow (and in moments like these, you can see how he and Rose are related). "Wanna skip with me and bum around in pajamas and play shitty video games?"

"Yeah, sounds pretty great, not gonna lie." He stretches, and, shit, you can feel him all along your stomach, a warm press of skin and Dave and you're.

Confused.

It's just Dave. Nothing new or unusual about that. And yet something about this feels different, like you’ve passed some sort of tipping point with him, but you don’t know what it is.

The early morning light likes to disagree with you, so you decide to blame it on your mugginess and the apathetic atmosphere of the day. It's easier than figuring out why your heart is racing. Or why you kissed him like that.

Dave blinks up at you. “Hey, aren’t we doing something? Come on, get up.”

You roll off the bed and flop down immediately on the couch, kicking back to wait for Dave to join you with his cocoon of blankets and quiet grumbles.

* * *

Your classes start taking up more time, as they always do, and the semester goes by quickly and then seems to not move at all. Towards the end of October, the four of you start planning what to do this year for Thanksgiving, though that's easily decided when Rose's mother invites you all up to her house in New York.

The drive seems never-ending, but Rose makes it with the ease of long practice. You and Dave are in the back seat the whole way, alternating between napping and shoving each other, Dave because you're stopping him from rapping, and you because he _keeps trying_.

Golden sunlight that is tinted dark by late afternoon splays over the snow covered landscape when the car finally stops in front of Rose's house.

"Welcome to Rose’s …” Dave waves his hand at the massive building, lost for words. "Whatever the hell this is. Huge. I always forget how fucking massive this place is."

"Just to let you know, I'm filing that under: phrases I'm sure you do not hear applied to yourself very often," Rose snipes back primly, but she smiles as you all tromp across the fucking long bridge to the main body of the mansion, some undefinable tension shaking off her frame as a tall blonde woman steps out of the main door. Said tall woman shouts something, probably Rose's name, and a fair amount of coherency is lost in the mess of getting inside, coats off, shoes off, bags to one side, introductions, dinner.

The food is fantastic, though Rose's mom is a bit intent on making and sharing the rumballs she's created. You get a full tour of the large house Rose lives in, plus a tour of the grounds. It's vast and cold and covered in pine trees, sort of like home. Jade romps around like the human puppy she is, ending up all rosy cheeked and laughing and frost-covered before she tackles Dave to the ground and shoves snow down his bulky jacket.

Dave screeches and retaliates by trying to hit her with a snowball, which doesn't work so well when he just ends up smacking Rose in the face with it. Without hesitation, Rose slings her expertly prepared snowball at you because apparently no one can be sane in this weather.

By the time you all tromp inside, it's beyond dark and you have to fight to be the first in the closest downstairs shower, which _almost_ works, until Jade just pushes everyone aside and walks into the bathroom. You and Dave stare at each other before scrambling to the next nearest shower.

You beat him in there barely, and you laugh uproariously at his swearing through the door.

(You make sure to call your dad when you settle in, missing him with an aching sensation that's only mildly alleviated by the fact that winter break is coming soon.)

That night passes in a flurry of laughter -"John, get your diva ass out of the fucking shower already, some of us are still frozen."; "Please tell me whose panties these are and if you say anything, Dave, I will excommunicate you to the observatory for the night."- and a terrifying and sudden meeting with Dave's Bro. You've seen the guy before, through the webcam when you talked to Dave when you two were younger. He isn't that different now either, a tall guy with stern, bizarrely orange eyes and a dry voice who seems absolutely intent on scaring the shit out of you by showing up behind you without making a sound. By the time you all head to bed, rubbing your eyes free of sleep, he seems to be pretty alright.

After all, he gives Dave just as much hell as you do. There can't be anything wrong with people who want to help you prank Dave.

Which is probably why Dave is looking very twitchy by Thursday morning, after you and Bro have collectively: covered the toilet nearest to his room in Saran wrap; completely encased his suitcase and pillows in Christmas paper; coated his bar of soap in clear nail polish; and the tried and true "bucket over the doorway" trick that you didn't believe would actually work, though Bro crammed a couple of his custom puppets in there instead of water.

You're not about to ask, but Dave looks appropriately traumatized.

You high-five Bro and then run outside before Dave can catch you, laughing the entire way. Dave eventually pins you down in the snow and raspberries you with ice-cold lips and caressing fingertips and woah, that's going places you don't want it to when the girls can totally see you if they look outside.

Dave sits up when you push him off, smug and rosy cheeked.

And you suddenly wish that the windows and the girls weren't there because you'd love to kiss him right now.

The moment passes. Dave offers you a hand up out of the snow, and you head back inside to get ready for the slew of cooking you have to do.

* * *

You don't remember most of Thanksgiving, caught up in the rhythm of cooking and batting the Striders out of the kitchen while you have to manage Rose's mom trying to dump alcohol in practically everything. You remember it being good, and laughing a lot. You remember sitting down afterwards to catch your breath and let the food settle.

You remember leaning most of your weight against Dave as he half-carried, half-supported you up the stairs.

You remember a warm, dry kiss against your lips.

You don't remember your dreams.

* * *

Bro wakes you up the morning you leave, hovering terrifyingly close over your bed before offering a silent fistbump.

You shakily return it.

He only grins and then disappears. According to Dave when you ask about it later, you're now officially part of the Strider family. You're not about to argue or question it. Dave wasn't exaggerating. They are a strange bunch after all.

The drive home seems somehow longer than the ride up, dragging out in silence and odd snatches of conversation here and there. Jade ends up asleep barely an hour into the ride, and you and Dave drop off unknowingly sometime after that, waking up only blearily for lunch. You drift awake again later, the sun streaming through your window, to the muffled sound of Rose's voice, Rose laughing and talking to someone, but when you cast around, disoriented, no one else is awake. You pass out again before you can figure out what's going on.

Dave has his hand on your mouth the next time you wake up.

Which is absolutely worth it to hear Rose singing “Living on a Prayer” under her breath. You bite your lower lip to stymie your laughter, meeting Dave's wide eyes and delighted grin with your own matching expression. She hits more notes than she misses, and what she does mess up on she makes up for with enthusiasm. And silent drum solos on the steering wheel. You’re surprised the motions don’t make her lose control of the car, but then again, it is Rose.

It's not too long before the radio moves on to “Don't Stop Believing,” which Rose sings with slightly more gusto, probably under the impression that her quiet singing isn’t bothering anyone and managing instead to successfully wake Jade up. Wordlessly, Jade joins in your odd triangle of muffled laughter and unbelieving stares.

Dave finally ruins it all when she's in the middle of “Sweet Dreams are Made of These,” snorting. "Seriously? Eurythmics? I thought your taste was refined, not tacky as all hell."

There's a startled strangling noise from Rose before she glares venomously at Dave through the rear-view mirror, hands white knuckled on the steering wheel. "So says the man who owns every album."

"And plays them in the shower," you add helpfully. You can feel Dave's betrayed stare and snicker at him. "I think he cries sometimes too, but I dunno."

"You think you've heard me crying in the shower and yet you refuse to join me and hug me through my tears and the streaming water like a real bro would? Wow, solidarity." Dave taps his fist against his chest before attempting to throw some sort of sign that you're sure fails horribly. "I am feeling real tight with you, dog. Wait, is this fucking “Five Hundred Miles?” Turn this the hell up, we are jamming this road trip style.”

* * *

Despite the fact that you've done nothing but sit (and sing) all day, you're tired when you get out of the car hours later, prone to laughing at absurd shit that wouldn't be funny otherwise. You and Dave bid the girls a goodnight that takes too long for you to get out even semi-coherently.

You're slightly punch-drunk by the time you get back to your room, leaning against Dave and chuckling as you drop your bag to the floor.

“Hey, hey, John,” Dave stage-whispers before he croons, “Rose waaaants you to want heeerrrr. She neeeeeeeds you to need heeerrrr.”

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Dave, that’s not _fair_ ,” you whine, giggling helplessly.

Somehow, in the middle of the two of you laughing, you end up within his breathing room, and the laughter slowly fades out. You stop yourself from reaching out, but your fingers are already bare millimeters from the surface of Dave’s cheek. He’s watching you through his glasses, stoic and intent and unmoving, and you wish that his expressions could be deciphered or distilled into some form you can understand. For a second, you’re held there, immobile, before you slowly, so slowly, brush the backs of your fingers across Dave’s cheek.

He shivers at the soft touch; you watch his eyelashes flutter closed behind his shades and you _want_.

God, he’s so beautiful.

How have you never noticed how far down his freckles go? He’s covered in them, gorgeous, tiny little whimsical circles and you want to taste them under your tongue. You give in to the urge just a little, kissing his cheek where your hand just was.

But the moment ends in a second, the feeling that drove you to be so tender with him vaporizing, and you jolt back.

(Dave’s eyes are shut tight, and you can’t help but think that it looks like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

You bite the inside of your cheek. The tension in the room is suffocating, pressing inside your ears until all you hear is ringing quiet, and a slow shiver traverses your skin. You lean forward, your nose bumping against his before you kiss him.

This is easy to understand. This is just sex, isn't it? So much easier to understand instead of the unbearable heat pressing alongside your diaphragm, filling you with every breath you take as you look at Dave. Sliding your lips against his, breathing in his exhalations, is simple compared to the fizzing beneath your bones.

 _It's just sex_ , you think as you pull Dave on top of you. _Nothing weird or odd about that. Two guys getting off_. At least you're not being a jerk and trying to pick up girls and use them or something like that, right? It's only sex.

You refuse to give it any other name.

* * *

If there is one thing you want more than anything, it would probably be the ability to figure out what the hell John Egbert is thinking at any given moment in time, even though you know it's a goddamned pipe dream.

Facts have never stopped you from wishing.

Like the fact that John is wavering between being the best and the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Despite that fact that he's letting you touch his dick on a regular basis, he still shies away from you anytime you even so much as think about mentioning it. You snort, drag your hand through your hair.

You just want to talk about what you are to John now. Just in general terms. Are you dating him? Is it some strange friends with benefits arrangement? Because it, this, all of this, started as John wanting sex, which, fuck yes please, but he’s been acting… Less like friends with benefits and more like your boyfriend. He fucks you and kisses you and watches you with affection in his gaze and takes you to dinner and suffers through your movie choices because it’s an excuse to lay on you, and last time you checked, friends with benefits didn’t act the way he does. It’s almost like he wants you, like he wants to _date_ you, like he already is, and you.

You know what you want it to be.

You've wanted to date him for years, so having a shot at calling him your boyfriend is your ... you're not going to call it your 'dream', because that's lame as shit, but. You want him. So far, you've been greedy, taking everything you can get. Anything you can get. And if he’s going to offer it, you’re not going to turn him down.

Which is probably why you're kneeling on the bed right now, John beneath you and his dick right in front of your mouth.

You wish there was something you could get out of this, because he _has_ been steadfast about one (unfortunate) aspect of your relationship. John does not reciprocate gracefully (which is a goddamned shame because he’s surprisingly dexterous when he has those hands on your dick) and there is just a part of you that thinks that if you suck his cock enough, he’ll lick his lips and return the favor.

 _That_ , you know, _is_ a fucking pipedream.

That doesn’t stop you from opening your mouth and taking John in, lips curling over your teeth. His hands fist in your hair as John moans and you wince. Ow. Rude. Bad habit of his. But the shock-flash of arousal belies your irritation, and you focus back to the task at hand. Slowly, you bob your head up and down, testing John’s ability to stay still as you increase speed, suction.

John’s hands clench in your hair again, a little rough. He lets out a choked-off moan, and you close your eyes, and swallow, and swallow, and swallow, the bitter taste of his come a shock to your tongue.

The room is almost unnaturally silent in the aftermath, as you pull off his cock and try to muffle your aroused whines. Beneath you, John pants for breath, all sex-mussed and entirely… gorgeous. You want to rub yourself against him, get his eyes to focus on you, come on him, mark him, and you bite back the urge because you shouldn’t let yourself get carried away. John gets all antsy whenever you start trying to leave hickeys on him, even though he likes seeing them on you. You can tell what the possessive, lingering touches he graces the marks with mean. You also bite back the urge to grab his hand and demand a little extra attention. Despite how much you want it, he… You know John wouldn’t be happy about getting you off.

So instead, you just bite your lower lip and fist your own cock until you come with a muffled groan, the orgasm feeling somehow hollow and unsatisfying, despite the pleasure coursing through you.

John murmurs, sleepy, and he rolls over to face the wall without looking up at you. Carefully, you ease yourself down and loop an arm over his waist, and John actually lets you arrange him against you, quietly grumbling when you have to thread your fingers through his, and eventually you settle down, rest your cheek against the back of his head. John shifts and scoots closer to you.

This isn’t making matters any clearer.

(You just want to _know_ what he wants from you, this uncertainty is killing you.)

Does he want you? Does he not? Because as much as John doesn’t talk about what you’re doing –and jesus, does he _not talk about what you’re doing_ – he still watches you all the time and kisses you when no one’s watching and leaves you confused in his wake, wanting to ask and too scared to even consider it.

But you can do this. John wants casual. He made that pretty clear, you think, and it’s not like you can get him to talk about it again. Maybe if you just wait, he’ll notice that he’s pretty much been like your boyfriend for the last year or so. And if you can’t have John in all the ways you want, then you’ll just have to settle for having him in the strained and quiet ways you can.

That thought makes it hard to go to sleep, but with the soft sound of John's breathing and shifting to ease the way, you manage.

You don't care to remember what you dream about.

* * *

You wake in the morning to the sound of your dorm room door closing. Blearily, you sit up, get ready for classes in your half-awake state (and you sleep through most of those anyway, god it's definitely getting close to the end of the semester, which means hey, your birthday is coming up, sweet).

Your photography class is a lesson in barely held patience. The latest batch of film you were developing turned out awful -some shitty combination of chemicals and exposure because some asshole wasn't paying attention, you're sure- so you're stuck a few days behind where you wanted to be. Which is shit. You were looking forward to having a weekend off without having to worry about it.

But no, you end up talking to your professor after class and arrange a time later for you to drop by and redevelop the pictures. Which makes you just a few minutes late to your illustration class, landing you the worst spot in the classroom near a vent that always blows too much air, disrupting your concentration as you try to focus on your work.

In comparison, it makes the time you have to spend with Karkat in your Pottery class much more tolerable, since you're able to actually join in with his vehement ranting for once instead of just mentally laughing at him. He's in rare form today, slinging his words and his clay roughly, and he manages to come out with not only a superbly formed sculpture by the end of class, but also a diatribe that rivals the linguistic fluidity of Shakespeare.

Much more profane, but by the end there, you swore he was getting into a meter, and still the fucker swears that he can't rap with you.

That’s what he gets for being a creative writing major, you suppose.

You really wish you knew how he concentrates and talks so much while sculpting, but can't manage to put on a long coat without struggling for a few minutes with it. Karkat's something else, sometimes.

By the time you get back home, you are thoroughly disgruntled and very much ready to just flop down face-first on your bed and play some goddamned video games. Maybe Jade will be up for that? But no, you remember, it's Friday. It's dinner and a movie night with the girls, so there probably won't be enough time for you to relax and get your snark on. Though it is -and here you pull out your phone and glance at it- barely three in the afternoon. Movie starts at eight. You could probably-

The door opens.

John drops his bag by his desk as you roll over and sit up, and he seems... thoughtful, somehow, like something is bothering him. Slowly and with a heavy groan, you pull yourself off of the bed and wander over to him.

"Sup, dude."

And he turns to you. You're not sure what the look on his face is supposed to mean, because that look normally comes right before a prank of his. “Dave, I want a tattoo."

You stare at him, blank. “What?"

He licks his lips, but grins at you anyway. “You heard me! I want a tattoo. And I want you to come with me to get it.”

“Daddy’s good little boy is going to be a little bit of a rebel?” The words are out of your mouth to cover your surprise before you even realize, but you’re still confused. This doesn’t seem like a very Egbert thing for him to do, and you have to know why.

“Hey, my dad’s okay with it.”

“Uh-huh, that’s why when you asked him what color you should dye your hair, he asked where he went wrong in raising you.” You stall his attempt at overriding you by just continuing talking, a grin you don’t wholly feel lighting your lips. “Now, what the hell is this all about, huh? What are you going to get and where and why?”

John frowns playfully, though the expression is ruined by the grin that keeps stealing across his mouth. “I uh. Haven’t really thought about it. Yet. I guess. But you’re artistic, you can help me, right?”

You roll your eyes. Yeah sure, you can help him. “I know exactly what you should get, Egbert.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“A giant fucking mural of my face on your back.”

“No.”

“On your ass?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Just my chumhandle, then? Come on, get it in overdone, scrawling script. “TurntechGodhead” all over that ass. It’ll be fucking marvelous.”

“What part of no are you not understanding, Dave?”

You grin at him, knock his shoulder companionably with your own. “The part where you asked me to figure out a tattoo for you, dude. Shit like that, it’s supposed to be personal, you know. Even if you just get a dolphin surrounded by a ring of roses as a tramp stamp, at least you picked it out for yourself.”

John makes a distasteful face at your suggestion. “Yeah, no tramp stamps. That isn’t happening.”

“Yeah, you are a classier bitch than that.”

“Dave!”

“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” But now you actually stop and think about it, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Carefully, you circle him, ignoring his exasperated sighs as you look him up and down. You reach out and lay your fingertips against the base of his neck, drawing them downward. “Maybe something here? Words or your favorite quote?” You don’t have to see his face to know that he perks up at that and opens his mouth before you cut him off again. “No, if you get ‘How do I live without you,’ I am going to punch you in the vagina.”

John laughs. “Dude, I don’t have a vagina.”

“That won’t stop me. What makes you think that would ever stop me. I would find a way.” A pause. “Shit, man, I dunno. This part’s up to you.”

He makes a face, turning around and looping his arms around your neck. “Hm. A tattoo for me, right? Some words?” His fingers tap in a _one-two-three, one-two-three_ pattern on the knob of your spine, a staccato rhythm you feel down to your fingertips. After a moment, though, John’s face lightens, and he grins. “Alright, I think I know. Let’s go.”

“What’s it going to be?”

“You’ll see. You’re going to be there, after all.”

* * *

It’s dark by the time you get back to the dorms, rain slicking down the windows and ground and turning everything outside into a glossy surface as you corral John into the bathroom. John strips out of his shirt without a second thought, and you watch, amused, as he walks in circles, trying to see the new tattoo at the base of his neck in the mirror to no avail.

“Dude, doesn’t matter how many times you do that, it’s not going to get any closer.”

He stops, finally, frowns up at you and turns his back, grabbing a chair from the main room and sitting in it backwards. From his position facing the mirror, John can still see you in its reflective surface, and he meets your eyes now.

“Well?” he asks. You drop your eyes to the black ink etched into his skin, and you have to admit that you never thought he’d actually go through with it. Tattoos always seemed like one of those rebellious things that good little John Egbert would never do.

(But then again, he’s surprised you by doing things “good little John Egbert would never do” before; this is no different.)

You clear your throat when you realize that the silence has stretched just a little too far. “ _You are the wind beneath my wings_ ,” you read aloud, the words now scrawled on his skin in expansive letters.

“How does it look?”

You smooth your hand down his back, starting below the reddened skin around the tattoo. You want to touch it. You know better, because of Bro and his own plethora of tattoos, and yet there’s something compelling about the stark lines. You lick your lips before you answer, softly, “It looks pretty rad, dude.”

John makes a face at you in the mirror, and you roll your eyes at him reflexively. You don’t mean to sass him, not right now. You’re too distracted by the ink beneath his skin and how much you want to match it, want something on you to mark yourself for John, but you swallow that back. He’s not. Interested in you, a few handjobs and blowjobs aside. He has the girls that are starting to notice him more and more, and you’re worried that what little you have burgeoning between you will be crushed when John actually notices them back.

A sick twist starts in your stomach and you swallow it back as you gently trace the words embedded in his skin. It looks good on him. You’re sure some girl will see it under the gentle curl of his hair against his neck and complement him. One thing will lead to another, and it’s not like John thinks he’s dating you. He acts like he loves you, but he says nothing.

Then again, he hasn’t said anything at all, so maybe you’re on the right track. You just have to be patient. You’re not sure that’s any better than what you’re thinking about his theoretical girlfriend, to be entirely honest, but it makes the burn of it slightly easier.

“Can you help me clean it, Dave? I uh, wasn’t really thinking when I let you decide on _where_ to get it.” John’s voice is sheepish, and you jolt, realizing that you’ve been zoning out too much.

You snort to cover your distraction. “Yeah, whatever. You just want my talented Strider hands on you, don’t lie. I can see right through your lame ruse.” Despite your words, you are already reaching for the little squeeze bottle of antibacterial soap the tattoo parlor recommended, wetting your fingertips to lather the clear fluid. With a gentle pressure, you wash the tattoo and surrounding area, the lines rough bumps under your hands. John winces, probably at some soap stinging the open lines of his new tattoo, and flinches again as you dab it dry.

Almost carefully, you grab a little tin of gel that was bundled with the rest of the tattoo care kit and run your finger along the inside. With the slick substance on your hands, you spread it in light circles, the movements hypnotic as you watch your hands smooth across John’s skin. You lose yourself in the simple motion until you’re mostly just zoning out and rubbing John’s neck, loving the feeling of his warmth.

“Dave?”

You jerk your eyes up to meet John’s in the mirror, only to realize that his head has turned away from the mirror, his face tilted sweetly up towards yours. John licks his lips, and it seems like his gaze flicks from your mouth back up to your eyes, though it’s too quickly for you to be entirely sure. You grin down at him anyway and tap him on the nose. “Sup, babe?”

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says, though it’s clearly not what he meant to say as you watch John wrinkle his nose at himself. But he’s already started, so he keeps going as he half-stands long enough to turn around, sitting down properly in the chair. “I’m uh. Not sure I’d have been able to go through with it if you hadn’t been there.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Sure you would’ve. Don’t sell your courage that short, dude. If you really wanted it, you could’ve gotten it on your own.”

“Hah, sure, but whose hand would I have held?” John’s nose scrunches again, and this time, it’s accompanied by one of his hands sliding up the back of your neck. He seems determined, somehow, and you keep your eyes locked on his as he pulls you, gently, then with more force as you hesitate, his face tilting up towards yours.

He pulls you into a kiss, the action somehow deliberate and different from any time you’ve kissed him before. John is almost tentative, moving his lips like he’s looking for something, slow and lingering. His hands tighten along the back of your neck before relaxing, stroking you, and you are taken entirely too off guard to do much more than respond, holding yourself still as you lean over him.

The room is silent aside from the sound of rain and your breaths and the soft, slick noises of you kissing him. John’s mouth is pliant and you explore it extensively, licking into his mouth with the sort of deliberateness only a lover could manage (but you push that thought out of your head; a few blowjobs does not a lover make). You jolt, your arms quivering, when John pulls back to tug at your hair, unable to stop your whimper when he whispers your name and you can’t. You can’t be expected to behave after that. You surge forward to kiss him again. The kisses are hungrier but no faster. John whines as you bite down on the curve of his lip and you-

-god, you love him.

You straddle his legs, overwhelmed with the need to press your body against his, the need to feel him every time you breathe.

His hands settle on your hips, come around your back, and John pulls you nearer, licking into your mouth, dragging his teeth against your lips and you are undone, coherent thought lost to the undulation of his body. You grind down against him, needing the burn of friction and-

John bites the side of your neck. You make a sound that is a cross between a yelp and a groan, your muscles turning soft and malleable as you hold him there, needing him on you, over you, everything, everything now. The sooner, the better.

“John,” you choke out into the open air, his name barely a whisper of sound-

-And the main door slams open.

“Alright, boys! Who’s ready for the mo-…”

You and John both start, and you practically fall off his lap and into the bathroom counter as John and you try to stand at the same time, legs tangled together. As the door shuts, Jade and Rose can see the both of you sprawled out in the bathroom, something like delight and amusement dawning in their faces.

“…vie,” Jade finishes, her mouth stretched wide in a grin.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” John blurts out, and you never knew his face could get that red! You want to muffle a snort, laugh, pass it off as exactly what it looks like, but you can’t. You absolutely can’t and you’re paralyzed as Jade and Rose move into the room, Jade coming up to her cousin and clapping a hand enthusiastically on his bare shoulder, her smile huge and pleased at something that isn’t quite right. And you want to make her stop smiling, because your stomach is dropping, dread piling in your joints like a physical ache.

“Are you kidding me? This looks like you’re dating, and that’s awesome! Do you know how long Rose and I have-”

You open your mouth to say… something (you’re not sure what yet), but John interrupts, laughing and mocking and oh-so-gentle, like the rending of butterfly wings as he finds and pulls his shirt over his head. “Um, no, we’re not together. So it’s really _not_ what it looks like.”

And you don’t want to know what your face looks like right now. Not with the blood rushing in your ears, the stop-drop of panic and shame that plummets through your stomach and feet. You just know Jade’s open mouth, her hurried, confused apologizes; Rose’s precisely raised eyebrow, her searching gaze that flits between you and John and sees everything, you presume. You wish you could breathe. But you can’t seem to manage, not with John lingering in your mouth, a taste you can chase with your tongue, with him and his careless, lopsided grin next to you. Breathing is an impossible feat in the face of Jade’s platitudes and Rose’s silent pity.

John’s cavalier disregard.

Jade frowns. “You’re not? That looked a little uh…”

“Suspect,” Rose interjects, and you flinch, don’t look up because you don’t want to see her staring at you, judging and weighing your mistakes. “It certainly doesn’t seem like you two are _not_ dating.”

“Christ, can’t two guys just get off with each other without it being weird?” You see John shrug out of the corner of your eye and you suck in a stuttered breath, trying to understand why it feels like your chest is caving in. You thought he-.

“Well, we just. It seemed like you were. And then.” Jade sighs and punches John in the shoulder, scowling up at him as he moves out of the bathroom and heads for the couch. “You’re screwing with me, Egbert, and I don’t like that. I thought you two were like, dating on the sly! And it turns out that you’re just banging! What a disappointment!”

You stare at the bathroom tile.

Wordless.

Yeah. A disappointment. That’s a good word for it, you suppose. (There are a few others you could use right now - _mistake_ \- but you don’t.)

A hand claps down on your shoulder, and you lift your head to meet Rose’s eyes. She looks fierce and upset, the set of her brows firm and uncompromising. “I believe,” she murmurs in an undertone that no one else is meant to hear, “that we need to have a talk, dearest brother. Soon.”

Weakly, you nod. You don’t have another option. Not with Jade laughing and talking with John over in the room, setting up the couch and DVD for your movie. It doesn’t take much for you to realize that he’s glossing over what just happened with a tight smile and avoiding any question Jade poses, leaving the strange and wonderful lost intimacy of that last kiss as though none of it ever happened. Rose deserts you to help with the set up, and you…

Well, you push yourself off the floor, slink into the room, sit down on the couch and wait. Playing it cool, you’d say to anyone who would ask. Trying to hide your shaking, more like. Laugh off any attempt to get you to help them until they’re all done and flop down, Jade to your left, Rose beyond her, John to your right.

And as the movie starts, the lights are dim and no one looks at you. John’s leg is warm against your calf, a brand, impossible to ignore, and no one seems to be aware of your heart pounding sickeningly in your throat, the shame that curls your hands into tight balls and sticks to the roof of your mouth, cloying. Rose and Jade are engrossed, unaware, and you…

The lack of lights makes it okay for you to close your eyes and breathe in shakily as your cheeks heat and your skin pricks with embarrassment, breathe out as panic and humiliation and an overwhelming mess of emotion floods your body. You break apart quietly there on the couch, timing your shuddering exhales to the loud portions of the movie.

No one notices.

You’re sure you’re supposed to be grateful, but instead you just feel sort of hollowed out and scraped raw. You had thought that things were going well. He kisses you for no good reason now, even though he barely even brushes his hands against yours when he thinks other people can see him, he _reciprocates_ at times, and his eyes are warm and wicked when he does, when he pulls moans out of your throat. And you were fine with trying to work up your courage to talk to him about what you two are together.

Because for all John talked about just being fuck-buddies, he hasn’t acted like that for the last year. It’s not casual. Somewhere in the easy conversations and the teasing touches, you got invested. And it wasn’t just you. You were _sure_ that John just needed more time to get comfortable with your relationship. He was practically dating you, the signs were all there. You were positive that all you had to do was wait and John would come to the same conclusion you had.

Until tonight.

Before tonight, no one was ever supposed to know. About you and John. Not until you had gotten it all fixed and made better and gotten John to figure it out on his _own_ and _and-_

But the girls know now. They know, and you can’t fix it, and every time you look over at John, he’s not looking back. There’s space between you that normally isn’t there that makes the single length of contact on your calf sickening because it’s _wrong_. You should be half in his lap by now with his fingers carding through your hair but you’re _not_ and you can’t be anymore because what if he just blows you off again? If he looks at you like you’re something to be ashamed of.

Dizzily, you try to figure out what to do, what your next plan is or should be, and you are coming up with nothing over and over again. Just nothing. There is nothing you can do. You are helpless and lost and you’ve screwed up too badly to go back now.

You squeeze your eyes shut and just wait for this all to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this Chapter: 
> 
> By Wolfie:  
> [Sleepy kisses](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/99856439292/chuchacz-he-gives-up-the-fight-quickly-too)  
> [Summertime Farewells](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/99681962897/chuchacz-you-hug-dave-fiercely-dude-it)  
> [The Uncertainty](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/99762400322/chuchacz-john-murmurs-sleepy-and-he-rolls)  
> [A kiss after the tattoo](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100125897187/chuchacz-dave-you-jerk-your-eyes-up-to-meet)  
> [Breakdown](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100202427702/chuchacz-no-one-notices-youre-sure-youre)


	4. I Won't Be Denied By You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hope you have fun,” he offers, like an olive branch, and you can’t help but think that the words are somehow difficult for him to force out, thrown out like he’s opening himself up to be the butt of a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I sort of started a full-time job between Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 which meant that I have NEGATIVE TIME to write now. I'm keeping on trucking as best I can though! Also, there is another fanmix, made by Janecrokeyre, found [ here](http://8tracks.com/cinnamonsnaps/it-drives-me-mad-but-i-still-love-you) on 8tracks!
> 
> Title of the chapter comes from "Animal" by Neon Trees (aka the unofficial anthem of this entire fic)

Something changes after that movie night.

You would say that you have no idea what it is, really, or even what sets it off, except for the fact that now Jade and Rose _know._

_No one had to know._

In fact, that was the whole point of it, wasn't it? The thing between you and Dave was just that, _between you and Dave_ and now that other people know, now that _they_ know, you're.

Okay, you might be panicking a little. You don't know what to do, really, and the fact that Rose and Jade know that you've been fooling around with a guy, with Dave, especially since you're straight, just makes you feel awkward. Every conversation you have with them is a little bit stilted.

But at least Dave seems to get it, too. He hasn't made any weird advances on you, hasn't even tried to talk to you about it, a fact for which you are guiltily grateful. In fact, since last Monday, you really haven’t seen him. You don't know where he's disappearing to all the time. If he shows up, it’s usually in the middle of the night right as you’re falling asleep, and by the time you get done with your classes, he's nowhere to be found. And you know that shouldn't keep happening; you have classes that get done before all of his, but he never seems to feel the need to come back to the room anymore.

When you ask Jade about it, all she's able to tell you is that he's not always going to their room. He does sometimes, but more often than not, the girls don't have a clue as to where he is. They assume he's with you, and in fact, they have no idea why he'd be avoiding you to begin with, which is for the best.

Jeez, you just hope Dave gets his act together before Jade’s birthday. You don’t want to have to deal with your cousin on a rampage if he misses it. You’d be put under interrogation by her again, the same way she’s been hounding you for anything information regarding Dave. A guy goes AWOL for a couple of days and…

Yeah, okay, that’s a pretty good reason to be worried, now that you think about it. You suppose you’ve been too grateful for the break from Dave to really let it bother you the way his absence usually would.

But it’s Friday afternoon, and Dave should (hopefully) be coming back this weekend, since you guys were supposed to go to the movies together. You had planned on playing roulette with the boards to figure out what you’re going to see. Dave insisted it was a terrible idea, but you are convinced still that it’s the only way the both of you are going to end up happy with the results. Plus, if you pick like this, you don’t have to listen to him bitch and moan about the movies you want to see all the time. And you don’t have to suffer through his weird indie movies.

You’re just glad that you're able to clean and moisturize your tattoo on your own now because holy fuck does it itch. It might have been a semi-spur-of-the-moment idea, brought on by an overheard conversation on the way back to class, but you still have to take care of it.

You tap your pencil against your wrist, not focusing on the homework spread across your desk. With a sigh, you close your book and start putting away all of your papers. You aren’t going to get any satisfactory work done with how distracted you are.

The door opens.

You turn around, papers still in hand, expecting to see Rose or Jade standing just inside the door.

Dave, as he’s shouldering off his jacket, notices you and waves.

And you stare, surprised for one beat, two. Even though it hasn’t quite been a week since you last saw him, (and lord only knows where he’s been sleeping this whole time. If the girls hadn’t let you know that they had seen him…)  it feels like so much longer. Dave twitches, and then you see the too-casual lift of one of his eyebrows in the space between his shades and hair as he finishes shaking off his jacket.

“Oh come on, Egbert, I know you haven’t forgotten my beautiful face yet. You’re gonna shake my confidence if you keep staring like that.” He taps the envelopes he’s holding against his leg, a flutter of movement, and as he takes his first few steps into the room, you think Dave almost looks like he’s not sure he’s welcome back here.

Which is weird, because it’s his room too, of course he’d be allowed to come here. Why would he think…?

In the ensuing silence, Dave makes his way over to his bed. His steps seem to echo in the small room, and you let your gaze rove over his body, looking for any significant changes. Some physical representation of his disappearance, but of course you can’t find anything. (You don’t quite know why you _expect_ something to be there.)

“So, where’ve you been, Dave?” you ask without taking your eyes off him, and Dave shifts his weight to one side, shrugs a single shoulder casually. But he doesn’t look up from shuffling his mail in his hands; you’re sure he’s been through those envelopes four times already.

“Around,” he finally answers, tossing the unopened mail on his bed. “You know.”

You bite back the sudden urge to lash out that no, actually, you don’t know, you haven’t see him in days. You settle for matching his shrug. “Not really. I mean, come on, you’ve been sort of avoiding all of us for the past few days. The girls are getting worried about you.”

Dave’s mouth twists to the side for a second before he smoothes his expression out. “The _girls,_ huh? Sorry I ruffled their feathers.”

“I’m not the one you have to say sorry to for that-”

“Look, I didn’t know that trying to finish up some final projects was going to become a federal fucking issue, alright? I’m back, I’m here, congratulations, nothing to be worried about,” Dave snaps before he visibly inhales and brings himself back under control. He sighs roughly, shakes his head. His hair swings with the motion, falling around his temples and forehead. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m pretty goddamned exhausted. I just had to go over to Karkat’s to get this stupid pottery thing done, and I ended up staying a few nights while I tried to figure out what was going on.”

Narrowing your eyes, you frown. “’What was going on?’ What do you mean?”

It’s hard to not be hurt by the twitch Dave makes at the question, how he flounders for a second before answering you. “With the project. What was… I screwed up early on and I had to fix it. No big deal.” Dave shrugs before he transparently tries to change the subject. “Weren’t we supposed to go to a movie tonight or something and get our snark on? Come on, dude, let’s go.”

“What, no ‘I’m sorry’ for not even telling me where the hell you were or was it easier to just keep avoiding me?” you ask before you really think about it. Damn. That was supposed to have stayed an internal statement, but hey, now that it’s out. You stick by it, staring Dave down mulishly.

He clenches his jaw, his fingers twitching with anxious energy. “Alright, I’m sorry for not being around this last week and for not saying where I went,” Dave finally allows, his words tight. “Can we just accept the fact that I’m a douche and move onto where we make up in a tender bro fashion by getting kicked out of another movie theater?”

“That was once, and I still think it was your fault.”

“Well, clearly the theater didn’t agree, since we _both_ got shown to the curb there, not just me, dude.”

You open your mouth to argue, but fuck it, he’s right, and you’re just glad that he’s back again. Grinning, you stand up.  “Alright, fine, let’s see if we can get thrown out of somewhere again. I’ll even let you _pick_ the movie.”

Dave clutches at his heart dramatically. “Jesus Christ, don’t break all the laws of the universe in one go, Egbert. My poor old body can’t handle shock like this, and I still need to hang on until dinner, alright?”

“Speaking of which, you’re paying for that,” you include impulsively, expecting more of a reaction out of Dave than you get. All he does is shrug and check his back pocket for his wallet before cocking his head at you.

“Well? Come on, jackass, don’t make me wait.”

Something about the way the insult rolls of his tongue makes you uncomfortable, but the feeling is there and gone in a flash, leaving only a tingling residue of unease along your shoulders. You follow him down to your car, and with semi-mechanical motions you drive to the movie theater. The whole way, the two of you are quiet. What little conversation you have is stilted.

You sigh as Dave steps out of the car, briefly resting your forehead against the steering wheel. He’s acting so weird. And you just don’t know what to do with it.

But you shake your head and push yourself out of the car because you’re going to go see a movie with your best friend, and you’re determined to enjoy yourself, no matter how odd he’s been acting, or how frustrated he’s made you feel in the short time he’s been back.

* * *

Jade wakes you up _early_ on her birthday. She knocks on the door until you drag yourself out of bed to open it, glaring blearily at her. Her grin doesn’t falter for a second, and she just barrels in and jumps on Dave’s bed, bouncing on him enthusiastically through his muffled groans.

By the time both you and Dave are dressed, you feel marginally more human. It vanishes when you brave the cold outside, but the conversations you hear around you between Jade, Rose, and Dave bring a smile to your face as you all pile into Rose’s van. Rose takes the wheel with minimal fuss, which is good, because none of you can stomach Jade’s driving.

The museum you end up at is fantastic. Jade immediately takes the lead, quickly leading you towards the first exhibit with the rest of you following. She and Dave seem to be having a bullshit contest where they both create extraordinary stories about the displays and why they’re positioned the way they are. (Dave seems to default to sexual or ludicrous. Jade goes for ultimately friendly or disturbingly violent with barely any in-between.)

Rose stops them when they start attracting too many stares.

You’re on maybe the fifth or sixth circuit through the museum, watching Jade vibrate with barely contained energy as she fervently explains all of the displays you encounter without having to look at the plaque once, when you notice that Dave isn’t with you. And neither is Rose, for that matter.

You look around the large room you’re in, trying to spot their characteristic light hair. You can’t see them anywhere. “Hey, Jade,” you call, trying to get your cousin’s attention. She waves a hand at you, her gaze hungrily devouring the exhibits. “I’m going to look for Dave and Rose, okay?”

“Yeah, fine, whatever, go for it, I’ll be over here with the dinosaurs!!”

And she bounds off.

You shake your head fondly. Turning on your heel, you start searching the crowds in the direction you came from. After a few minutes of fruitlessly wending your way through people, you catch a glimpse of light hair, a red hoodie, and you veer in that direction. Your steps speed up. Yep, that’s Dave and Rose! You have no idea what possessed them to fall so far behind.

When they come into full view, you slow to a stop.

Rose and Dave are talking.

That in itself isn’t odd.  The fact that they’re clearly arguing is. Their shoulders are touching, Dave hunching over slightly -defensively, you think- so his furious looking whispers can reach Rose’s ears better. Whatever he’s saying, she’s having none of it, though. She keeps shaking her head, light hair flaring out as she does, refuting everything Dave says.

Then, just as you consider moving, she looks up.

Right at you.

Dave, following her sudden pause, half-turns and freezes too. They are a tableau there for a moment, statues of surprise, and you abruptly feel like you’re being scrutinized. You see his mouth open, muttering something to Rose that ends with her hands clenching at her sides, and Dave starts walking towards you. Rose, after a frustrated, sharp gesture, comes along.

“Hey,” you say when they get within earshot. “Jade and I were wondering where you guys had disappeared to.” You look between them, draw your teeth across the edge of your lower lip. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Dave says as Rose answers, “Yes.”

Rose glares at Dave, whose posture is suddenly guarded and uncomfortable. He shakes his head, very pointedly not looking at her. “Nothing that can’t wait until we’re _alone_ , Rose.”

“If you have your way about it, Dave, we’re never going to _be_ alone.”

“Then I guess we’re just not going to talk about it then, are we?” Dave says tightly, and the reassuring smile he tries to send your way falls so flat, it’s almost painful. “Let’s just get back to Jade. Where is she?”

You let out a long breath. “With the dinosaurs, of course.”

“Oh fuck yes, giant dead things, let’s go.”

As Dave hurries off like a man who just escaped execution, you turn to look at Rose, questioning. “What was that?”

“That is precisely the question I had,” Rose says. She frowns, leveling a stare at you that has you wishing you could just run like Dave had. You settle for squirming slightly in place before she relents, looking away. “It doesn’t matter too much. I’ll speak with him later. I’ll disable him if I have to.”

You snort out a laugh, never once doubting that she would do it. “In the meantime, let’s get back to the birthday girl, right? We have to get back so she can open her presents.”

“Yes.” Rose smiles slightly up at you. “But don’t think you’re getting out of that conversation either.”

And isn’t that just cryptic?

But you follow Rose back to where Jade and Dave are, and you can see the tightness in Dave’s shoulders, how he’s avoiding looking at Rose too much. You’re sure they’ll smooth it over. Eventually.

(Jade loves the robotic ears Dave got her, the hunting scope you know she had been eyeing from you, and the knitted representation of a Mobius strip that is Rose’s present.)

(It’s a good Sunday.)

* * *

So of course, Monday is rough. Your classes are boring and seem to drag on forever. You practically sleep through Genetics, which sucks because you love that class, and when you stumble into and out of OChem, you’re just grateful that there wasn’t a pop quiz or anything like that.

You open the door to your room, ready for a small nap before Dave gets back from his classes, and for once, the universe seems to be in agreement. No one is there waiting for you. So you’re free to toe off your shoes and take off your glasses, and flop down on your bed. You pull your comforter over your shoulders and just breathe into the small pocket of air you left yourself.

Sleep steals up on you between one breath and the next.

You’re shaken awake what feels like only a few minutes later. Sitting up groggily, you fish for your glasses before you feel them being pressed into the palm of your hand by a blurry shape that you’re pretty sure is Rose.

“’re we ready to go?” you mumble blearily.

“Yeah, Dave got back just a few minutes ago. He’s getting ready, and we thought you might want to be awake for opening presents.” As you slide your glasses on, Rose steps back from your bed and smiles faintly. “Are you alright? I’m sure we can leave you here for-“

“No, no, I’m fine. Honestly. Just tired. You know how it goes.” You sit up, and sure enough, Dave is eyeing his presents hungrily as Jade loops a scarf around his neck, his shades balanced precariously on the top of his head.

Dave looks up at you and grins, batting Jade’s hands aside. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens. Do I have the go-ahead yet? I’ve been waiting all day for this. Come on, let the King reap his spoils of war.”

You laugh under your breath and nod. “Yeah, whatever, go for it.”

He tears into his presents, swiftly stashing the new art supplies and canvases Jade and Rose got for him safely in their designated corner before tilting his head at the small box left. Before he opens it, you pipe up. “It’s from Dad and I. Don’t expect any Christmas presents this year, okay?”

You see him flick his gaze from the gift to you and back again before he carefully tears the wrapping paper, taking more time on it than any of the other presents. Dave stills when he uncovers the label for the camera. It was expensive, but you know he’s been coveting it for the last month, and hey, it’s his birthday, right?

“Thanks, John.”

“Eh, no big deal,” you yawn, standing up. “Get ready to use it, though. We’re going on a nature walk in the cold just for this.”

(He stands slower than the rest of you, and there’s something contemplative about the way he moves.)

You pile into Rose’s car so she can drive you to the trailhead. You’re not going too far into the trail, not with how late it is and how cold it is, and definitely not with the soft layer of snow on the ground, but Dave’s snapping pictures and adjusting settings before you even leave the car. You like the delighted grin he has. It disappears and reappears in fluctuating waves, and you’re glad that your present has temporarily smoothed over the oddness between the two of you now.

Dave directs you, Rose, and Jade into some staged shots before he just wanders around, taking pictures as he sees fit. You breathe in.

_Click-whirr._

Out.

It’s quiet out here.

_Click-whirr._

You think you like that best of all.

* * *

 

It’s closing in on ten o’clock when you finally get back to the dorm room, and you and Dave flop onto the couch almost in tandem.

“Alright, get re-dressed, Dave!” Jade orders, hands on her hips.

“What? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope! Get up and get some new clothes on! We’re going places!”

Dave raises an eyebrow at Jade, who only grins at him wider and doesn’t offer anything more. You can see the moment when his curiosity wins out over how tired he is, and Dave slowly staggers upright to shamble over to his dresser. “What am I going for with these clothes?”

Jade practically wiggles. “Get sexy, dude, we’re going clubbing! Just the two of us, because Rose said she didn’t want to go tomorrow, and John’s a baby,” she says, drawing the word out with a grin in your direction, “so we’re not waiting until April for him.”

“Wow, thanks,” you grouse, crossing your arms. Rose pats your arm, sympathetic and completely condescending.  You make a face at her. Based on her eye roll and hair-flip, you don’t think it’s as effective as you had hoped.

But you watch Dave do as Jade says, kicking your feet idly along the floor while Dave picks out a shirt and a pair of ripped jeans before heading into the bathroom to change. Silence reigns in the room for a second, and you close your eyes. You can feel yourself thawing like this, hyperaware of the prickling of your skin back to awareness, and it’s a sweet, twitchy energy.

You open your eyes to Jade right in front of you.

“Why do you _always_ do that?” you exclaim, jerking backwards, and she bursts into peals of laughter before she sobers, tilting her head.

“You’re not actually upset that we’re going clubbing without you, right?”

You snort. “What? No, duh. You guys are twenty-one! Go live it up, or something. Just don’t be too loud when you drag your inebriated asses home.” You squint between Jade and Dave as he exits the bathroom. His jeans hug his hips and hang attractively loose over the rest of his legs, the rips allowing flashes of fair skin through, a scintillating tease. You look away. “You’re not driving, are you?”

They both shake their heads. “One of Dave’s friends said that he’d have someone swing him by if Dave ends up drinking tonight,” Jade explains. You can’t help the possessive twinge that rockets through you at that. You bet it’s _Karkat_ or whatever his name was.

“Why didn’t you ask Rose?” _Or me_ , you don’t say, but fuck, you think it bitterly.

Rose stands up, her phone shutting with a soft clap. “Because I have somewhere more important to be this evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

She smiles enigmatically, though her obvious excitement keeps turning the smile a bit more unabashedly happy and anticipatory than you think she intends. “I have been invited to a very late romantic dinner. And on that note, I need to go.”

Dave offers her a fist-bump as she passes him. “I was wondering why you got all gussied up. Knew it couldn’t just be for my birthday.”

A faint flush floods Rose’s cheeks, and she raps her knuckles against his. “You’re not that important, brother dear. This, however, is, and I would appreciate a hold on all sarcastic or dubiously ironic remarks until morning, are we clear?” She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and you notice that she’s shaking. “I’m nervous enough on my own.”

“You’ll be just fine.”

Rose nods, and she leaves with a small wave.

“Huh,” you say. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that off-kilter before.”

Jade smiles. “She’s been waiting for this for a while now. Hopefully, she won’t screw it up, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“It’s Rose. She never messes anything up. How long has this been going on anyway?”

Dave and Jade roll their eyes simultaneously, both making similar faces of fond despair. “It’s like you never pay attention or something. It’s _Rose_. We just have to hope that the person she’s with likes their dates flustered and rambly,” your cousin says, crossing her arms. “And before you ask, no, I have no idea who she’s going out with tonight. She thought it would jinx it if I knew.” Jade gives Dave a once over and grins. “Alright, looks like we’re ready! Let’s hop to it, Strider!!”

Pushing his shades into place on his nose, Dave nods. “See you later, John. Don’t wait up.”

“Oh trust me,” you say to the closing door, “I won’t.”

The words sound hollow to your own ears, and despite how tired you are, it takes you hours to fall asleep.

* * *

 

You wake up to warm breath ghosting over your neck, a leg and arm thrown haphazardly across your body, and the most heinous need to piss.

Turning your head is a chore, since someone seems to be pressed as close to you as they can get. But from the blond hair that tickles your cheek, you manage to identify the interloper in your bed.

“Dave, what the fuck.”

He grunts at you, shifts far enough away that you’re able to roll over onto your back as he supports himself over you on one forearm. College beds, you think, disgruntled, are way too fucking tiny. Finally, you ask, “Did you get drunk?”

Dave makes a face. Well. You think he does. “No. I went for the music and the dancing, not to get hammered. Alcohol tastes like ass anyway.”

You squint blearily at him. “If you weren’t drunk, then why the hell are you in my bed? I thought you-”

“Because I didn’t want to share a bed with Jade, since _she_ got drunk off her ass, but she also refused to let me take her back to her own room, so I dumped her in mine and came to get my cuddle on with you. Unless you wanted to snuggle up to your cousin and her potential to vomit all over you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Dave laughs, quiet in the muted, washed-out colors of the morning. You feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. It’s comfortable here, with Dave propped up on one elbow above you, one of his legs still resting on your own and you let out a quiet, pleased sigh.

There’s a thunderous cough.

You and Dave look over at Dave’s bed.

_Cough, cough, hack_.

“Can I have some water?” Jade asks, her voice torn all to hell. “I feel like a septic system took up residence in my mouth.”

Dave’s head lowers, and you feel the entire bed shake with his muffled laughter. You shove his leg off you so you can stand. “Alright, alright, Jade. I’ll get you something.”

After all, you do still need to piss.

When you come back from the bathroom with a glass of tap water, Dave has moved from your bed to Jade’s and they’re talking in quiet, indistinct voices. You manage to catch some of the conversation as you draw near.

“-uch did I talk about Karkat?”

“It was embarrassing, Jade. I had to take your phone away from you and remind you that the kid can’t even join us in the bar until June. He probably was traumatized for the rest of his life.”

Jade snorts, pushes her hair out of her face and smiles at you as she accepts the glass of water. “He’s adorable and angry. Like a kitten with string, okay?” She takes a sip, and when she continues, her voice is considerably smoother. “He needs to be shown a good time.”

Dave chuckles. “You were going to show him a good time, alright. _I’m_ traumatized by how much thought you’ve clearly put into getting Karkat out of his pants. I’ll never be the same after last night.”

“Stupid pants,” Jade grumbles in agreement, the words odd and echo-y as she drinks more water. “Always getting in my way.”

“Your life is a hard one, Jade.”

She grunts. You look at Dave, one eyebrow raised in amusement, and he just shakes his head at you, the motion a direct contradiction to the upwards curve of his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you stand. “Well, that’s great, but not all of us have the excuse of a bender to get us out of class today. So I’m going to get on that and go, okay?” you say as you gather your clothes and eye the clock. You should still have enough time to get dressed and get over there in time.

“Even my own bender doesn’t excuse me from class, dork.” Jade pushes herself upright and winces. “I have a test today. Why did I think this was a good idea?” She continues without really waiting for an answer, “Oh right, I was trying to get birthday boy here drunk, and that didn’t happen, you lame-butt.”

“Mind-altering substances aren’t my jag, you know.” Shrugging casually, Dave slides off his bed and you lose the thread of their bitching as you go into the bathroom to get changed. When you exit, the door is closing behind Jade and Dave is tossing you a wink as he slides his jeans over his hips. “Sorry about that. She really was talking about calling Karkat almost all night.”

You shrug, uncomfortable for no reason you can place. “I didn’t know she knew him.”

“Yeah, come to find out, they were in English together last year.” He shrugs. “Small campus, I guess.”

You hum something that could be construed as an affirmation. The room grows silent, and you mentally wince, knowing that you’re directly contributing to the awkward weight in the air. There’s nothing you can think of to say, though.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dave lift his head and stare at the door.

“Hang on, that bitch took my blanket.”

And just like that, the tension is gone. Your shoulders shake as you try to hold in your laughter. “How do you not notice that? There’s no hope for you, is there?”

Dave grins widely. “None whatsoever. It’s part of my charm.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“Go to class, John, you’re gonna be late.”

* * *

 

You head back to your room before your final class of the day, setting your books down on your desk and spreading them out so you can work on some homework. _So close_ , you remind yourself with a heavy sigh. _I’m so close to being done with this semester. Another week, and I’ll be home_.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you pick it up, sliding your finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hey, what’s up?”

Rose responds, “Not very much, John. Have I caught you at a time you can talk?”

Squinting down at your homework, you sigh and nod. “Yeah, just working on some homework. Nothing that I can’t finish later. It was only assigned today.”

“Good. Then we won’t be interrupted. Alright, John, you know what I want to talk about.”

You blink, ignore the sudden and totally unwarranted fizzle of panic that garners, and smile into your phone. “Your date last night? Because I really want to talk about that. How’d it go?”

Rose snorts, an ugly burst of static. “It proceeded as expected; stop avoiding the question.”

“Technically,” you begin, drawing the word out, your fingers tap-tapping on the surface of your desk with a nervous sort of energy, “you haven’t actually asked me anything yet. And what do you mean, ‘as expected?’ What were you expecting? Did it go well or did it tank, or what? Talk to me, Rose!”

Another sigh for your trouble, and you can almost hear Rose’s look of ill-concealed impatience. “It went well. I think. We are not, however, talking about my date, we’re talking about you and my idiot brother who refuses to talk to me about this.”

And you stand, propelled by fraught energy. You drag a hand through your hair as you begin pacing around the room, laugh slightly, say, “I. What? Why would you want to…? Unless we’re talking about how weird he’s been recently, because yeah, he’s been. Uh. Acting pretty off for a while now, now that I think about it.”

“John.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re avoiding my question. Again. Stop it and just talk to me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you mutter. God you’re hungry now that you think about it. You should absolutely make something. There’s Easy-Mac right over in the closet. “We haven’t-“

Rose cuts through your voice, firm and slightly concerned. “You and Dave are engaged in a sexual relationship. There’s no use hiding it since both Jade and I walked in on you making out, and I’m just trying to figure out what happened. Why will neither of you talk to me about it?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about! We… kissed. Fooled around a couple of times, maybe. No harm, no foul, and it’s done now anyway. Okay? Now can we please not talk about this? It doesn’t matter!”

You hear a snort as you reach up and grab the Easy-Mac container and head over to the bathroom sink to fill it with water. “It matters.”

“I don’t know why. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

Rose’s voice shifts to a slightly more pleading tone when she asks, "Can you at least tell me when this even started, John?"

"I don’t know how that matters! It was only an ‘every once in a while’ thing that we did. But I mean, come on," and you snort out a laugh, "it doesn't mean anything. Didn’t mean anything. It's just two guys getting each other off. No pain, tons of gain, okay?"

Rose doesn't say anything. You feel bizarrely guilty, and then angry for feeling guilty, because fuck her, she doesn't dictate what you do with your life, no matter how controlling she is. You scuff the floor with your feet, shoulder hiked up so you can balance the phone while you keep making shitty mac and cheese in your microwave. “Rose, stop it with the disapproving silence, you’re the one who wanted to talk about this. I mean, come on, he’s not getting any otherwise. I’m helping a friend out, aren’t I? I haven’t heard him complain yet.”

“Well of course you haven’t, John. Dave doesn’t like talking to anyone about his problems directly, which is why I’m trying to talk to you to understand what’s going on.”

“Can we just drop this already? I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of me, Rose. Dave and I talk about everything. Trust me, okay, he liked it, it’s not hurting anyone, so you should butt out! We were just fooling around! It doesn’t mean anything to either of us!” You hear the door shut behind you, and you turn around quickly. Dave shouldn’t be back so early.

But no one’s there, and Dave’s backpack is on his bed, half-opened and deserted, computer gone.

Your heart plummets and you don’t understand why.

"Rose, Rose, hang on, I-" and you don't finish your sentence, already chasing after Dave. You throw your dorm room door open hard enough to hear it slam against the wall. Frantically, you look up and down the hallways and-

Nothing.

Dave is nowhere to be seen.

There are tinny noises coming from your phone, and you lift it to your ear again. Your hands are trembling, you notice distantly. "-hn, John, what's happening? Are you even there anymore?"

"Yeah," you respond, voice straining to be level. "Yeah, I'm right here, sorry. What were we talking about?"

Rose is silent for a beat. "...What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. Dave just. Dropped by for something before going off again." And the words feel like they're coming from far away, and not from you. You can't talk to her anymore. Not like this. "Anyway, I just remembered, that homework I mentioned earlier. I have to finish it now, so I'll talk to you later, Rose!"

"John, wait, I-"

You hang up in the middle of her talking and immediately toss your phone onto the bed. She's probably going to try calling you again, and you don't want to have to answer. For that matter, you get up and lock your door because there’s a pretty big chance that Rose will storm down here; you already hear the vibrations of your phone, which she’s probably calling. You just. Want Dave to come back in so you can play some video games and listen to his bizarre, off-kilter commentary. Maybe if you…

You retrieve your phone (yep, there are already two missed calls from Rose), thumbing through your contacts until you light on Dave’s name and you call him, heart thudding in your chest.

It rings. Once.

Twice.

Gets sent to voicemail.

You stare down at your phone. Maybe he knocked into the phone before he could answer…? You try calling again.

Voicemail, no rings this time. And that means Dave must have turned his phone off.

Huh.

There’s a deep twinge in your chest, and fuck, it _hurts_. God, you are so fucking fed up with Dave’s avoidant bullshit, but if he’s not here to talk to you, then you can’t yell at him and get all of this dealt with.

Rose tries to call out again, and you turn your phone off too because two can play at that game, and you definitely don’t want to deal with her. Shaking your head , you settle for sitting down and pulling out your laptop. Maybe some mindless internet browsing will help clear your head. It probably won’t, but it’s as good of a distraction as anything else.

You’re not going to be able to pay attention in your class anyway, so you don’t bother going.

* * *

 

The tension in the room is almost palpable when Rose comes to collect you and Dave for her birthday outing that evening. Rose is glaring at you, you’re avoiding her gaze and simultaneously trying to catch Dave’s, and Dave is ignoring both you _and_ Rose. Jade looks between all of you, sighs despairingly, and then offers to take the wheel. Which at least unites you all against her. You suppose that was her goal.

The van is quiet except for the radio playing. Even Jade doesn’t break the weird embargo on conversation that seems to be going on. You look out the window, then over at Dave, who’s more engrossed in his texting than he is anything else.

His phone buzzes every few seconds, and every time it does, he gets this fond half-smile on his face. You are _not_ petty enough to let yourself wonder why. This silence and odd tension last all the way through the short subway ride into the city proper, to the small art museum that you all got Rose tickets for.

By the time you walk into the museum’s parking lot, the tension is killing all of you. But it seems like Dave, at least, has chosen to move on from it.

“So, Rose. Why exactly are we here? Like I know you’re interested in art and shit like that, but we already _went_ to a museum in case you didn’t notice. Plus we experienced art in its fledgling state with me yesterday. Why are we at another goddamned museum? My legs still hurt from all the dancing we did, since keeping up with Harley is one of the labors of Hercules at least.” He moves his glasses out of the way just to squint at Rose. “You wanna see dicks, don’t you.”

“ _Yes_ , Dave,” she says wryly. “That is my sole purpose in this outing. Seeing penises. Really, if I wanted to see some, all I would have to do is go to your apartment in the middle of summer” At Jade’s confused head tilt, Rose elaborates. “Bro has never been overly concerned with public decency.”

Dave snorts. “Tell me about it,” he says, sort of smiling at Rose as he flips his shades back down.

She smiles back, tucks her hair behind her ear, and you realize that they’ve at least reached some sort of silent truce. They’re talking again. They’re good.

You sidle up to Jade. “Glad that’s settled,” you tell her in an undertone. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you mimic the expression. “What?”

“Really, John? You’re glad _that’s_ over with?”

“Yeeesss? The two of them fighting really drags the rest of us down.”

Jade sighs at you. “Oh my god you are hopeless. I can’t do anything with you. Come on, we’re getting left behind.” And she turns away, hurrying towards the doors of the museum, where you can see Dave and Rose waiting.

You jog after her, confused. “Wha-“

“Egbert, Harley, come on! Show’s on the road, we’re getting a move on! No man left behind. Don’t make me reenact ‘Saving Private Ryan’ right here in this parking lot, because I will do it. I don’t wanna get in there with half of us missing!”

You miss whatever Jade says in the sudden influx of noise that washes over you when you step across the threshold of the museum. You content yourself with following behind them, trying to keep close in the crowd.

There is a mass of people here, and their voices fill the museum with an amorphous swell of chatter. You watch them as you wait through the line, your eyes ticking through them one after the other. Old couples wobbling through. A group of teenagers, laughing and chattering loudly, their phones in their hands as they take pictures of the art. Couples holding hands, and the obvious affection between them makes you wistful. You’re through the line before you really notice, too caught up in your observation of other people’s lives.

“I hope you don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut while we’re wandering around,” Dave says, and you look over your shoulder in time to catch his wry grin. You match his smile, though when he sees it, Dave only seems startled and then upset, his expression shuttering closed. (It hurts, and you look away, ignoring the suddenly fragile feeling in your chest.)

Absently, Rose says, “Dave, I never expect you to do anything I want you to. It’s the only way I can live my life without feeling the need to murder you every few minutes.” She looks at the map of the museum and nods to herself. “This way.”

“Such strong sibling love.” Pushing his sunglasses up on his nose, Dave takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders like he’s about to go off to war. “Let the commentary… _begin_.”

You and Jade trade despairing and fond looks behind their backs. The people you choose to hang out with.

“Coming up on our right, we have a couple of old dudes in outdated clothes. Wait, they’re not actually a part of the museum, they just look like they could be, my bad, MOVING ON…”

* * *

 

“Why is everyone’s dick so small?”

“Really, Dave, we’re in an art museum and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“Uh, yeah, duh. Priorities, Harley, I have them.”

* * *

 

“Seriously, was everyone just modeling in the snow or something? Unnaturally small peens.”

“Dave, we all know they’re the same size as yours, it’s okay.”

* * *

 

“What is-“

“If this is another dick joke, you’re going to sit outside in the car.”

“…Tough crowd.”

* * *

 

It takes another hour for Dave to get well and truly fed up with walking around and pretending to appreciate the art around him.

“Dude, when are we going to get to the shit you _actually_ want to do?”

Rose smiles serenely, but she acquiesces and starts leading you all towards the exit, weaving expertly between people the way only a student really knows how to do. After the subway ride, you all end up piled back in the van as Rose navigates the traffic back towards your college. She pulls over on the way, stopping in front of this strip mall.

Dave peers out the window and then raises an eyebrow at Rose. “Really?”

“I need more dice, and a new set of rulebooks came out,” she says primly as she opens the door and heads into the tabletop gaming store. Dave stays firmly in his seat, shaking his head incredulously.

“Sometimes, I can’t believe we’re related.”

You snort. “More like you can’t believe you didn’t think of going here first, right?”

Silence.

“Oookay, and with that, I’m more interested in the inside of the store too! Be right back!” And Jade practically flings her door open and scampers out.

“What the hell was that?” you mutter and Dave grunts. And turns away from you, pointedly ignoring you, and the silence that falls then weighs heavy along your tongue. You try to breathe through it, to think of something, anything, to say that will get it to go away, but. But your mouth is closed, and your tongue is heavy, and you are quiet in the face of that.

You look out the window.

You don’t say a word.

In fact, you don’t say anything else to Dave until after you’re back in the dorm room, when you mutter a faint “goodnight” to him as you’re heading to bed.

You don’t get a response.

* * *

 

The silence that night is worse you think.

Because you can hear him breathing, and you can’t help but think of all the times the darkness has covered the two of you as you traded heated and inept touches until your skin pricks with remembered arousal, but you can't get any closer to him than you are. You weren’t even able to really talk to him today.

He's avoiding you again.

It hurts.

You are friends. If he doesn't want to experiment anymore with you, that's fine, whatever. You’re cool with stopping this if he doesn’t want it, but you would think that he would at least have the decency to just. Tell you. Or resume your friendship minus the sex part.

But apparently… not.

You sigh and turn over, your blanket hooked tight around one ankle. It's no use. You’re going to find getting to sleep tonight difficult, your mind whirring nonstop.

Staring across the dark room to where Dave’s sleeping, you try to make out his silhouette from the other shadows. It doesn’t work so well, especially with your glasses off.  But he’s over there. You know that much. And you wrap your hand around the corner of your pillowcase in lieu of touching him and try to let yourself drift off.

* * *

 

He’s gone when you wake up.

* * *

 

You wait around almost anxiously for him to come back. But he doesn’t, and Rose and Jade both shrug when you ask them where he is. You think Dave might be staying with that friend of his that he mentioned, Karkat, and that gets under your skin. He shouldn’t. He should be with you, hanging out on the couch and studying or painting or whatever it is that Dave would decide to do.

But he’s not, and you’re left gnawing on your own lip until it’s tender and bloodied while you pour over your books and try not to send anxious glances at the door more than five times in a twenty minute period.

* * *

 

Dave shows back up in the room two days after Rose’s birthday, acting like nothing ever happened.

You guess you’re supposed to take your hint from that.

* * *

 

Things don't get better. They just get odd.

Dave isn't really talking to you. Or rather, he is, but it doesn't feel like he is? It's not the same sort of camaraderie that you are used to from him. He asks you distantly about your finals and how your studying is going instead of blaring back-beats and rapping incoherently fast at you until he's red in the face and you can't breathe for laughing. The two of you pack up the room in silence, the only break for occasional calls of “this is yours, right?” and when you announce that your last final is done, you are met with an empty room and silence.

You sit on your bed, trying to understand why you feel so disconnected. Dave is your best friend. And as much as he insists that there isn’t a problem (which he has _every time you’ve tried to ask about it_ ), there clearly is. You clench your hands in your lap.

The door clicks open. You look up as Dave enters the room.

“Hey, Dave.”

“Sup, John,” he responds, but he doesn’t look at you, just busies himself with hanging up his coat and scarf.

“You done too?”

“Yeah.”

And that’s. It.

He just walks over to his bed and doesn’t explain any more, offer anything else, and it’s _painfully_ transparent. You shift uncomfortably. “So. You ready to go home?”

Dave looks up at you. He cracks a small smile. You think to yourself that the minute expression shouldn’t feel like a victory. “You mean, am I ready for the unique brand of torture my brother inflicts on me? Yeah actually, I kinda miss the smell of smuppet ass in the morning.”

“Ugh, Dave!”

“Hey, you asked.”

The room falls silent _again_. The distance between the two of you has never felt more awkward than it does in this moment. You stand up and pace around the room a little bit, trying to work off some of this nervous energy that is coiled in you.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Egbert?”

And you stop. Incredulously, you turn, stabbing your finger at your chest, then at his. “What’s got _my_ panties in a twist? _You’re_ the one who’s acting weird.”

“I’m the-“ Dave scowls, looking up at you. “I’m acting weird?”

“W-Well you have been! You have been for weeks now. It’s kind of.” You hesitate, thinking for a second. “One, it’s kind of obvious, and two it’s uncomfortable, and I don’t…”

“You don’t…?”

“I just don’t understand why you’re avoiding me!” You clench your hands at your sides. Well shit, okay, you hadn’t meant to say that, but there’s an ugly swirl of hot emotions coiling in your stomach. You don’t think you could’ve stayed silent. Dave opens his mouth, and you’re positive, fuck, you _know_ that he’s going to deflect somehow, just like he did last time, and you snap out, “Don’t you fucking lie to me again. I know you’re avoiding me. I just don’t know _why_.”

Dave licks his lips. Steps towards you, and in the height of your frustration, you don’t back away. You tilt your face up towards him the slightest bit, and you _don’t_ back down.

And Dave clumsily kisses you, like it’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. The knot in your stomach is dark and sickening and you aren’t able to name the emotions that form it anymore, except for one.

Fear.

You don’t want to get caught, you think desperately. The girls, anyone could just walk right in, and you _can’t_ be caught kissing Dave again. If it was a girl, you tell yourself, if it was a girl, you wouldn’t be so disconcerted by the idea of being seen. But it’s Dave, not a girl, so. You still can’t quite bring yourself to pull away as soon as you should.

He watches you, breathing hard, and you can see his eyes dart over your face as he searches for… something. An answer, maybe. To a question you’re not sure you want to hear.

“Look,” he starts after a second, frustration digging into the edges of his words, “Did something change? About this? I know we haven’t done anything since we... since you got your tattoo, but last time I checked, us fooling around was still a thing that could happen without anything being weird, right?”

The knot in your chest unravels. And panic floods you. It feels like you have just been electrocuted, an ache you feel in your bones. Technically, he’s right. It doesn’t have to be awkward, but at the same time, you know that if you kiss Dave, if you let him get you off like you have been, the girls will know and there will be more and more uncomfortable conversations as you try to explain that you’re straight, have always been straight, and getting off with another guy means nothing to you.

“I don’t…”

He waits.

“Dude,” you say with a nervous laugh, “you have to admit that this is a little weird, okay? If this was with a girl, it’d be fine, but not...” Right then, you can feel the atmosphere of the room just _shift_ , and oh, the silence right there is hard and brittle as you watch Dave’s jaw clench. You finish lamely, “Not a guy. You know?”

He’s quiet for a few moments, so you examine your shoes, the walls, anything and everything except for Dave’s face.

“So, we’re done with…” and Dave waves at the air between you and him, the motion awkward and yet somehow fitting, “all of this? Whatever it was? Doesn’t mean anything anymore?” When you open your mouth to answer, you’re cut off by Dave laughing, the noise harsh and unpleasant. “Wait, never mind, I forgot, it didn’t mean anything in the first place. Isn’t that right?”

That hurts.

You think it’s more of a reaction to how Dave’s behaving about all of this than it is to anything else (he’s acting like there’s been some kind of fall-out. There isn’t. You would have noticed). That explains the low burn of anger you find yourself saddled with. “You’re right, it didn’t mean anything,” you say slowly. “And that’s how it was from the very beginning. But something changed these last couple of weeks and you need to get over it.”

“ _I_ need to-”

“You heard me right. You’re the one who started acting all weird when the girls caught us.” Oh, this righteous tide of frustration tastes sweet on the back of your tongue. The words come without thought, and it’s freeing, getting to say them finally. “You’ve been avoiding me _and_ Rose and Jade, and don’t think that I believe your bullshit about finishing art finals. You’ve done them here before. So something changed that you couldn’t handle, and you’re taking it out on all of us.”

Dave gnaws on his lip, his mouth curling with frustration. “Whatever, dude. Whatever makes you feel good at night, I suppose.”

You glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that you-” Dave bites back the words and shakes his head, starting again. “This fucking problem isn’t just my fault, it’s yours too, and you can just. Whatever. I don’t care. I’m going to go spend the night with a friend of mine and regret ever letting you touch my dick.”

“You’re the one who wanted it so bad!”

Dave goes still. In the low light of the dorm room, you can’t see his eyes through his shades, just how he lowers his chin and breathes deeply. “Yeah, big mistake there.”

He doesn’t say anything else when he turns around and walks out of your room.

He also doesn’t answer when you call him after him, frustrated.

And he doesn’t come back.

* * *

 

Needless to say, you don’t sleep well. It’s a hard and gritty sort of awake that greets you when you pull yourself upright, the kind that lingers and sting in the wells of your eyes. You’re dragging your suitcase to the door when there’s a soft knock. You open it to see all three of your friends waiting outside, and you exchange quiet greetings with the girls.

You don’t look at Dave.

You don’t notice the rawness of his cheeks and the defeated slump of his shoulders.

You don’t walk behind him and wish you could reach out and touch him and get him to smile at you, because that smile wouldn’t make this morning any better, no matter what your hindbrain is telling you.

You don’t.

The car ride to the airport is tortuously tense and silent between you and Dave. You don’t think that the girls notice how awkward the two of you are, which is probably only due to how early it is, and the fact that they’re both not fully awake yet.

More likely, though, you’re just kidding yourself, because there’s no way they don’t know. They just don’t want to talk about it. Which you’re alright with. You couldn’t handle Rose’s psychoanalysis this early in the morning anyway. You say your goodbyes to Rose, a hug and a faint wave, and Jade leads all of you through security with her typical jittery wakefulness, bouncing on her heels anxiously when her bags have to be rescanned. 

“I’m not on the same flight as you guys,” Dave says as you’re waiting for Jade on the other side of security, and it’s the first thing you’ve really heard him say this morning. His voice is raspy and sleep-roughened, penetrating the constant buzz of airport background noise with ease, and he reaches out to pull Jade into a one-armed hug when she reaches you a few moments later. “So I’ll go ahead and take my fine self to my own terminal.”

Jade squeezes him hard enough that you see the air going out of his lungs. “Stay awesome, Dave. We’ll see you soon!”

When she lets go, you offer a fist out for Dave to bump. He looks at it, at you, and then he gives you this aborted little half-wave and turns around.

“Dave?” you call after him.

He doesn’t look up, just keeps walking away from you, and Jade looks at you like you must have done something terribly wrong. And you. Feel like you have. Christ, what the hell is going on between you two anymore.

* * *

 

\- - ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:24 - -  
EB: dave?   
EB: okay, looks like you're still not talking to me.   
EB: i just wanted to let you know that jade and i made it to washington alright. and i hope that you and bro have a good christmas.   
EB: say hi to him for me.   
EB: fuck, dude, i have no idea why you're avoiding me now, but it needs to stop, okay? i’m sorry for the fight, and if you’re upset about something, we need to fucking talk about it, because otherwise, i have no idea why you’re mad at me!   
TG: that much is obvious  
EB: oh hey! nice of you to finally respond.   
TG: whatever Egbert  
TG: glad you made it there alright  
EB: dave, are you still mad at me?   
TG: my phones about to die so im going to shut it off sorry  
TG: ttyl  
EB: dave?   
\- - turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 18:43 - -  
EB: oh yeah. okay. talk to you later. 

You sigh and flop back, letting your phone fall to the bed as you bounce on the mattress, staring up at your ceiling. Faintly, you can hear the sounds of your dad making dinner, of Jade chatting with him as she helps. Or gets in the way, depending on whether or not Dad can trust her with anything in this particular recipe. And you should go down and join them. Be part of the family. You just feel antsy and restless.

You hate to think that it’s because of the stupid fights you and Dave keep getting into. You sigh and turn onto your side, staring at your phone, hoping that it will light up with a new message.

Your luck isn’t that good of course.

When your dad calls you down for dinner, you leave your phone behind.

* * *

 

Winter break is…. Well, you’d say you’re glad that you’re home. You are. You miss your dad a lot during the school year, since the two of you are close, so any time you get to spend together is important to the both of you, but. You keep checking your phone every five seconds for a text that never comes. For scrawling lines of red script that rambles about anything, everything, Dave gets his hands on.

You talk to Rose, but it’s pretty clear that she’s still not happy with you either.

When Jade corners you in your room and asks you what’s wrong, you know that it’s probably gone on too long. You smile at her, shrug, you mouth some excuse about not having caught up on your sleep yet, and she watches you with patient, determined green eyes. And your smile turns sheepish, then disappears.

She sighs. “If you’re having trouble with Dave, John, you should really just man up and say that you’re sorry.”

“But, Jade, it wasn’t-“

“A fight can’t be one-sided. It only happens between two people. Plus you’re no fun when you’re down like this. Jokes just make you upset instead of laugh.”

You hang your head and laugh a little bit. That much is true, you suppose. Despite the fact that you got home a few days ago, you feel like you haven’t relaxed at all, and even your dad has put your perpetual prank war on hold….

You frown down at your desk, at your crossed fingers. You need to talk to Dave. And there lies the other problem. You look up at your cousin. “Look, okay, you can’t tell anyone, especially Dad, about any of this, okay? Especially not what you saw, because that was just sort of a one-time thing anyway.”

Jade rolls her eyes and steps fully into your room, her gait confident and loose. “Alright, I promise. Now, will you just tell me what happened?”

“What happens if he doesn’t want to talk to me again?”

“Well… what are you guys even fighting about? I know things have been a bit weird between you two for a bit, but… Yesterday you were fine.”

You shift your shoulders uncomfortably. “We just, okay, look, it’s awkward between us right now, that’s all. We made out and now things are kind of weird.”

“Because you made out, or because you two won’t talk about it?” You squint sideways at her, and Jade grins widely. “Rose has been complaining that neither of you will talk to her about it either. We’re your friends too, you know.”

“Well, yeah.” You sigh and hang your head. “I just don’t know what to do, okay?”

“Have you tried actually talking to him again? Because all I’ve seen you do is sit around and mope, and I bet he’s missing you too, even if he’s being a stubborn asshole about his feelings.”

“Well he’d better.” You heave out a tired sigh, look at your hands crossed on the table. “I don’t know. I’ll… I’ll give us one more day to cool down, and then… Then I’ll try calling.”

“Whatever you feel is best.” She plucks your phone off the desk and fiddles with it. “Unfortunately for your plan, I think you should call him now. So you are.” Jade presses the call button with a grin and holds your phone up to her ear.

“Jade, don’t-“

She holds up a finger. “Oh, hey, Dave.it’s ringing.” Jade puts a hand over the microphone and stage-whispers to you, “Look, I won’t be here in a second. I’m tired of you moping around the house. You guys need to work this out, so here, have at!” And you fumble as she tosses your phone to you, barely managing to catch it between your forearm and chest.

Cautiously, you raise it to your ear. The phone rings once before there’s a quiet click.

“Yo?”

 “Um. Hi, Dave!”

Jade wiggles her fingers at you as she leaves and you flip her off, your heart hammering in your chest. Nervously, you stand, pace around your room as you listen to Dave’s quiet breaths.

“Hi, John,” he answers finally, resignedly.

You sit down heavily on the bed, a bolt of tension suddenly gone. “I um… How was your flight?”

“Long, boring, full of jackasses who take up more than their fair share of space and smell awful while doing it. Now why’d you actually call.”

You sigh and shift around awkwardly on your bed, phone clutched to your ear. “I… I dunno, it just felt weird to not talk to you. So.” Silence reigns between you, an uncomfortable expanse of static noise. "Hey, I..." And you're not sure what you are going to say here. That you miss him? That's ridiculous. It's not like he _really_ went anywhere. That you want him back? Sure, whatever, you guys were just fooling around anyway. Big deal.

Dave sighs roughly after waiting a few moments to see if you're going to continue your train of thought. "You?" he prompts. Something in his voice doesn't sit right with you, and you gnaw on the inside of your lip.

“I’m sorry,” and it feels like it was pulled out of you, like the words aren’t really yours. “Whatever it was that I did or said to make you so mad at me, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever you-” and Dave cuts himself off. There’s heavy silence between you while you wait for whatever he’s about to say. “You don’t even know what you did?”

You twist your fingers together. “Well, no, no one’s told me what I did wrong! How am I supposed to know?”

“Common sense? Deep soul-searching? A mystic trek through the mountains and some meditating under a waterfall? There are so many ways, dude. So many.”

You snort. “Who the hell meditates under waterfalls? That's just asking for hypothermia.”

“Bro’s done it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“About Bro? Yeah. You totally would.”

Dave laughs, and you feel like you’ve won, a hot, victorious surge of emotion tangling in your chest. “Yeah, but I’m actually serious. I have pictures and everything.” There’s a brief pause, and Dave sighs roughly. “Okay, let’s just. You know what, I’m sorry about the fight we had. We were both being weird, and I’m sorry about my part of it.”

“I’m sorry about mine. I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Tch, you just miss me and my bad self, don’t lie.”

Fuck, your throat is suddenly tight. “Well, yeah, you’re my best friend, Dave. Of course I miss you when we’re fighting.”

“Aw, Egbert, it’s like you care,” Dave mutters, embarrassed for a half-second before he says, louder, “So, you wanna know what Bro did the instant I got home?”

You chuckle. “Sure, go for it.”

You stay up late talking to him, hugging your phone to your ear and your knees to your chest, and it feels _good_ to laugh and listen to Dave ramble like he normally does, to aid and abet his wide conversational tangents that take you down meandering paths you never meant to end up on. He tells you about Bro (who managed to somehow recreate the entire Beetlejuice wedding scene inside Dave’s room, with Lil Cal as Beetlejuice and Dave as Lydia, only Dave _swears_ that he has no idea where Bro got the dress or how he ended up in it so quickly), and about the flock (“ _murder_ , John, I keep telling you, it’s a _murder_ ”) of crows that have come back to welcome Dave home again, and manages to somehow get distracted on a tangent of whether or not Bro would enjoy a metal bikini or if the slave-Leia scene would be adequate revenge for Dave’s impromptu nuptials.

It’s beyond dark when you curl up on your bed, your phone still attached to your ear. Your eyelids are heavy and it gets harder and harder to concentrate on Dave’s voice, on answering his questions with half-mumbled words…

You wake up the next morning with your phone under your ear and its conversation timer still going. Over eight hours are logged on the clock under Dave’s name, and you smile through the funny little squirm in your chest. Lifting the phone up to your ear, you don’t hear anything except for quiet breathing. Which means that you both accidentally fell asleep with the phone still going; it’s a stupid reason to have such a big grin on your face, but not a stupid enough reason for you to stop.

You press the end call button and decide to not think about it too much.

* * *

 

He texts you later that day, when you’re sitting at the table watching your dad knead bread. Your kitchen smells heavenly, warm and yeasty, and your stomach’s already growling even though dinner isn’t for another few hours at best.

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]at 15:17 - -  
TG: you hung up on me

Of course that’s what he fixates on. You roll your eyes before you respond.

EB: you were asleep! what was i supposed to do, wake you up?   
TG: well yeah duh  
TG: or just listen to me sleep and decide to join me again since thats what i did when you fell asleep  
EB: you creep.   
TG: fu  
TG: you fucking love me and you know it  
TG: besides it was like being back in the dorm room with you okay  
EB: so you decided to fall asleep to the sound of me snoring? that’s not weird at all.   
TG: you know how people listen to those obnoxious relaxing whale cds  
TG: those have nothing on your slightly nasally nocturnal panting and wheezing okay  
TG: like shit son i bet i could record that and no one would be able to tell the difference for shit  
EB: wow.   
EB: just wow.   
TG: i could make you a star egbert  
EB: i’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore.   
TG: yeah well  
TG: were bros right

You try to bite back your smile and fail miserably. You’re glad to hear that you weren’t the only one who felt like the weight of the world had been removed from your shoulder. Atlas finally removed of his burden. You quickly tap out your reply and look up at your dad to find him watching you, his eyes crinkled around their corners.

You’re distracted from asking him why he’s smiling at you like that by the insistent buzzing of your phone going off.

TG: so anyway hows your dad  
TG: still pranking it up  
TG: have you taken any pies to the face yet john

And you scowl at your phone for that. Just because it happened once. A day. Every day you’re home. In fact, you think there might be a reason he enjoys bringing it up, and it might be because you always fall for it, even though you also get your dad back for it every time.

EB: when will you stop thinking that’s funny?   
TG: never  
EB: fine, he nailed me yesterday okay?   
TG: haha nailed you  
EB: oh my god, dave, no.   
TG: ahahahaha omg yes  
EB: no.   
TG: bros gonna be jealous as shit man  
EB: we are not bringing your bro into this, got that?   
TG: whatever you say daddys boy  
EB: in fact, you’ll be lucky if i keep talking to you anymore.   
TG: dude dont lie  
TG: youd miss me instantly

You laugh at your phone, drawing your dad’s attention back to you. He smiles again, and you smile back, feeling the exasperation and fondness you’re feeling pull through at the corners of your mouth.

“I see you and Dave made up,” he says, and you blink.

Wincing, you ask, “Did Jade tell you?” And he nods, of course he does, but he’s smiling still, and you can’t exactly bring yourself to get irritated with him right now. “I should’ve guessed. Yeah, we got into a fight, but we both apologized last night, so we’re doing better now.” You run your thumb across your phone’s screen. “I missed talking to him.”

And Dad claps a hand on your shoulder, sending up a faint cloud of flour. “Good. Fighting with your friends is not fun at all. Plus,” and he leans in, winking at you, and you mimic the motion unconsciously, “how can you lure them into a false sense of security when they’re mad at you?” You notice a motion right before he draws back and-

-Too slow.

Which is how you end up with your dad gleefully slinging a pie into your face today, because you were an idiot enough to fucking trust him within arm’s reach of you.

(You take a picture of yourself all covered in pie, sending it to Dave. Dave sends back an audio file of an old laugh track, and you feel like a piece of your world’s been realigned.)

* * *

 

Things continue like that while you’re over in Washington. You’d lie and say that you weren’t nervous about going back to college, but you are. You don’t want the awkward silence to resume, the push and pull where you and Dave don’t know how to get on even footing again, and while you’re on the phone with him, everything seems to be alright. You don’t want that to end.

Jade gets fed up with your jittery bullshit about halfway through your flight back and threatens to punch you if you don’t settle down, but god, she just doesn’t get it. What if things are weird again when you see him? What if this tentative balance you have with Dave doesn’t work when you’re living together? You fidget with your suitcase, thumbs smoothing down the rough surface as you search the crowd for Rose and Dave. No, it’ll be fine.

“Hey, there they are! Dave, Rose! Over here!” Jade waves excitedly and grabs you by the elbow before you have a chance to think about getting away. Which, of course, you weren’t. Because it’s just Dave and Rose, and seeing Dave again isn’t going to mess with anything.

It’s going to be fine.

Jade hurls herself at Dave before you can figure out exactly what to do. Stalling for time, you open your arms up for Rose, smiling as she squeezes you tightly. “Did you have a good holiday?” you ask, realizing guiltily that you really haven't talked much to her in the last few weeks.

“After a bit of awkwardness was smoothed out between you and my idiot brother, yes,” Rose says primly. She pats your cheek before you can even open your mouth to dispute that and steps away. “In light of that, hello, Jade, how was your break?”

Which leaves you and Dave. Dave, who has his sunglasses firmly on and his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, who scuffs his foot on the floor and does not look at you, whose posture is rigid and who you have missed with your heart in your throat.

You look at him and think, _fuck, I missed you_.

The two of you stare awkwardly at each other before Dave sighs, and his shoulders loosen. “Sup, dude?”

And it's like glass shattering. Every bit of wound-up tension bleeds out of you instantly. “Not much,” you say, a smile slowly stretching across your face. “You know me.”

“Oh yeah, the exciting life and times of John Egbert, prankster extraordinaire.” Dave splays his fingers out wide in a sarcastic jazzhands move, and you roll your eyes at him. “I forgot, how do you manage to have time for us lowly peons when the press clamors for your attention all the time? It’s so fucking marvelous, Egbert. I’m honored, really, I can feel it like a splinter in the gratitude center of my brain.”

You laugh and decide, fuck it, you’re going to hug him. So you do, and you feel the way he tenses before he leans into you, his hand coming up to press, warm and steady, against your back. “Just shut up already,” you mutter into his shoulder.

Dave laughs, a noise you more feel than hear. “It’s a condition.”

“A condition called jackass?”

“No a condition called shut the fuck up, you can’t steal my punchlines, you jerk. Now get in the goddamned van and let’s get this party started again.”

You grin and follow Dave and the girls to the car, and you were right. This is all okay at last.

* * *

 

Things between you and Dave go back to normal. You’re joking around with him, talking about classes starting up again; you hang out with the girls all the time. And sure, you do still look at Dave and feel the now-familiar pulse of arousal, but you’re convinced that it’s just because of where you are and remembering all the things you’ve done with him.

You’re not quite as sure how to handle the urges to touch him. Laying on him or leaning against him seem to have gotten you a into a little bit of that whole mess with sex anyway.

It’s still a little tense at times, but about two weeks back into the semester, you think you’ve gotten everything settled.

And that’s when you meet Haley.

There’s your endocrinology class. You know her there as the girl who has a pretty smile and always laughs and generally sits two or three seats away from you. And you smile back at her and say hello and make her laugh with a few witty remarks before class starts each day, but you almost never see her afterwards.Today, however, she’s waiting for you outside.

“John?”

You blink, then smile uncertainly. “Hi, uh... Haley, right? What’s up?”

“Oh, not much,” she says, sidling up to you, and you’re distracted by how her hair frames her face, the curve of her neck and mouth, how her shirt drapes over her body, and when you jerk your gaze back up to her eyes, her smile only gets bigger.

“See, John, there’s a question I wanted to ask you.”

* * *

 

“Dude, you will not believe what just happened,” you say as you burst into the room. Dave looks up, grinning at you. Carefully, he sets down his paintbrushes, wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Must be something pretty exciting if it’s got you all worked up. Lay it on me, John. What happened?”

“A girl just asked me out!”

And silence. Something in Dave’s expression changes and you tilt your head, wait, laugh after a moment, and it’s a short nervous sound. “What, no ‘you should’ve asked _her_ out, figures the girl would have to break through your thick skull, Egbert’ jokes?”

“Sorry, I was just. Surprised that anyone would bother with your dorky ass. What did you say?” His fingertips are dragging against his jeans, white-tipped from how hard he’s pressing them down. “To her?”

Slowly, with a sense of unease prickling at the base of your skull, you answer, “I told her yes, obviously. We’re going to dinner on Friday.” You watch Dave, and he is the picture of stillness. It’s hard to see him breathing. He’s staring at you. Blinking slowly. But he’s just so tense and so still, and you absolutely don’t like it.

Finally, he nods, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. “Good for you, dude. I mean, Finally, right? It’s your time to shine with the ladies, John. I’ll just have to wait my turn.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious and worried, and there’s a part of you that wants to reach out and touch him, to smooth down his jittery lines of discomfort. “You don’t have to-. Did I forget something?”

Dave shakes his head quickly. “ _No._ No, you didn’t forget anything.”

“Were we going to do something that night?” you ask, searching his face for some sign of what he’s thinking.

“No, we weren’t. I mean, we don’t have to do anything every weekend. Maybe we just need a break from each other.”

“Why would you say that?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, and when he does, it’s only with a muted “I need to get this finished,” as he turns back to his project.

He resists all of your further attempts at conversation. Eventually, you give up, slouching over to the couch and turning on the game systems so you can play video games. You half-heartedly bounce from one game to the next, nothing really catching your attention. You have to stop yourself from glancing over at Dave time and time again.

Every time you do, though, he isn’t looking back.

With a heavy sigh, you slump over, staring at the load screen for what has to be the tenth game you’ve tried to play.

“Hey.”

You look up. Dave is twirling one of his cleaned brushes around his fingers, an absently dexterous movement. He seems occupied with inspecting his canvas, but it still feels as though he’s waiting for your reactions.

“I hope you have fun,” he offers, like an olive branch, and you can’t help but think that the words are somehow difficult for him to force out, thrown out like he’s opening himself up to be the butt of a joke.

You don’t take the opportunity to be difficult and instead you just grin half-heartedly at him. “Yeah, I hope I do too. Want to see if I can kick your ass on Mario Kart today? I’ve been getting better.”

“Yeah, the same way an old person getting new glasses lets them drive better,” Dave snorts as he heads over to you. He flops down on the couch and you offer him a controller. He takes it after a moment of stillness, and you knock your ankles against his. Shaking his head, Dave leans back into the cushions, and starts the game.

He doesn’t move his foot away, and you like the solid warmth there too much to end the contact yourself.

* * *

 

So you take her, Haley, out on a date.

You meet her in front of the dorms, and she laughs a little when you offer her your arm (just like you thought she would). You two head first to the movies, and she goes along with you easily when you suggest the blockbuster action movie of the season, which startles you. She should have argued or tried to pick a different movie, you think, but that makes no sense. The only person who argues with you about stupid things like movies is Dave.

Haley isn't Dave.

You absently check your phone while she picks out which snacks she wants. No missed calls or messages. Hm. Your thumb hovers over Dave's name.

“Ready?” Haley asks, grinning widely, and her freckles are stark and lovely on her cheeks. You smile back, tucking your phone back in your pocket.

The movie is, as expected, the best combination of terrible and amazing. Haley is flushed and laughing as you two exit the movie theater. “That was,” you say, giggling, “the best movie I've seen in a while.” And you're readying your reasons why, your protestations against the casual scorn you're about to be dealt, when-

“I know, right?” Haley tucks herself against her side. You blink. “God, that was so much fun!”

Right.

She's.

Not Dave, so she isn't going to tear the movie apart like Dave always does.

You shake your head and check your phone (still no messages from Dave), and you lead Haley to your car, to dinner, and you somehow manage to make it through because it turns out that her laugh is a little obnoxious, and she doesn’t gently mock your love of Matthew Mcconaughey or Nic Cage. She doesn’t like pranks, she’s really only interested in… well, you’re not sure. Girl stuff, you guess. You’re not the best listener. It’s almost a silent agreement when you two leave the restaurant that this isn’t going to go past this first date.

But she still backs you into a deserted bathroom on campus, a wicked smile on her face, and the blood in your body rushes to your dick. You find yourself in a stall, pants down around your ankles, her mouth on your cock and your hands grabbing her hair (not too hard, you remember from all the times Dave pulled off to bitch at you, not too hard).

And all you can think is one thing.

_Dave’s better at this than she is._

You put the thought out of your mind as fast as you can, even if your dick twitches inside her mouth at the memory of Dave on his knees in front of you. She pulls off to grin up at you, pumping you with a lazy hand that doesn’t quite get the angle or pull right. “Like that?” she purrs, but luckily, she doesn’t wait for an answer before she goes back down on you. Tilting your head back, you let the feeling of a mouth - a girl’s mouth - take you over the edge with little more than a muffled warning.

There’s a spitting sound (huh, Dave swall-doesn’t matter, this isn’t Dave, won’t be Dave, stop thinking about him), and she stands up, pressing herself against you.

“Come on, baby, a little reciprocation?” she asks, guiding your hand to her….

Hm. You never thought about this part, you guess.

But vaginas! You like girls, so you like vaginas. The two kinda follow each other. So. You slide your fingers around a little (wow, girls get wet, that’s kinda hot), watching where she moans, where she doesn’t, finding a little nub that makes her shake, and you keep going until she’s writhing and biting you to stay silent and-

She kisses you lazily, afterwards, before she adjusts herself and heads out of the bathroom. No phone number, no “call me later," just a “thanks for the good time, babe,” a kiss, and she leaves.

You pull out your phone.

\- - ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 23:18 - -  
EB: hey, dave, you up?   
TG: yeah man sup  
EB: wanna go grab some IHOP and then watch a few bad movies?   
TG: didnt you have some hot piece of ass tonight  
TG: not me clearly though that means you didnt have the hottest piece of ass  
EB: yeah, we didn’t really work together. but you don’t leave a girl in the middle of a date, and i maybe got a blowjob out of it?   
EB: now i just sorta want bro-time.   
TG: brotime yeah sure  
TG: you coming in my truck or are we taking your lameass car  
EB: car, duh, i don’t want to die tonight.   
TG: except little deaths apparently  
EB: what?   
TG: nvm see you soon ill be outside  
\- - turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 23:29 - - 

Man, Dave is so weird sometimes. You pocket your phone without really worrying about it, adjust your pants and try to not feel like you just betrayed him somehow. That’s absurd, really. You haven’t done anything wrong.

But true to his word, Dave is waiting for you outside your dorm, a lit cigarette cradled in his fingers as he sits, back against the wall. He snubs it out on the concrete and stands. “Sup, dude,” he says, quiet.

You shrug, tuck your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “Not much. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s get this show on the road.”

The two of you say nothing on the drive, the radio a low hum spanning the space between you. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth. You half-start a dozen conversations with him in your mind, but the words never make it out. Every time you glance over, he’s looking out the window, playing with his lighter, never once looking at you.

You frown, unease squirming in your stomach. This… isn’t good at all. Shit, you bet he’s upset because you’re getting laid and he’s not anymore.

You sit in silence with Dave once you’re seated, your fingers tapping on the pale wood of the tabletop the only break. “So... what, you’re not even going to ask me how it went?” you venture after your server has brought your drinks and taken your orders. (Dave, oddly enough, isn’t being weird and obstinate about never ordering breakfast from IHOP because he gets a short stack of pancakes. He didn’t offer you any explanation when you shot him a questioning look, and he doesn’t seem any more willing to talk about it now.)

“You’re here at IHOP with me instead of her.” Dave tries for a grin, but there’s something about it, like maybe it isn’t wide enough, something that seems kind of sickly and bitter. It’s a warped, discomforting expression. “I think I can guess how it went. We _don’t_ need to talk about it.”

And there’s a part of you that’s relieved, of all things. Dave’s your best friend. You should be able to talk to him about anything, but, for some reason, you just don’t feel like sharing everything that happened with Haley. You’re sure that, somehow, the fact that you thought about him while her mouth was on your cock would somehow manage to come out and you don’t know how you’d explain that. _You were the first person who did it, so of course I’d think of you?  You’re better-_

You clench your hand under the table where Dave can’t see it. Forcing a grin on your face, you lean forward to rest your chin on the heel of your other hand, elbow braced against the clean, blonde wood tabletop . “So, what, we’re here to drown my sorrows in syrup? Are you picking up the tab for my poor, broken heart?”

Dave barks out a shot of laughter. Your stomach twists at the unpleasant sound; your smile loses some of its intensity. “Sure. Your _poor, broken heart._ ”

And you have no clue what to even say about that.

“Dude, what the hell is up with you?”

Dave shakes his head. “Look, okay, classes are just picking up and I’m trying to figure out what to do with this one project okay? I can’t seem to wrap my head around it, and it’s making me a bit bitchy.”

Fuck, you want to call bullshit so badly.

But you let the moment pass without saying anything, and the tension between you grows quiet and sullen before fading. “So... Wanna talk it out?” you offer. “Might help to get an uncultured asshole’s opinion.”

That gets you a smile, and you settle back, satisfied for now, as Dave revs up this whole involved rant about whatever bullshit project he’s working on now. That topic lasts you through your food, and when it peters out, Dave sighs and picks up the ticket without trying to start a different conversation. It’s… unusual, and you frown. Normally, you have a hard time getting him to _stop_ talking long enough for you guys to get anywhere.

Dave just slides the tip onto the table and stands, and you almost ask him why he’s not hiding it like he usually does before you swallow it back, back, because for once it feels like you’re _not allowed_ to ask. To talk to him. He’s mad at you for something he really shouldn’t be, because it’s not like you guys are anything more than friends now. 

You turn your gaze away from Dave, letting the words in you die before they ever fully form.

The silence on the way back is worse somehow.

* * *

 

Over the course of the next few days, you notice something.

Dave is…

Well, Dave’s mad at you again. Or at least, you think he is. It’s almost like he’s trying not to be mad at you. You’ve realized that much, at least. He tries to be civil and friendly, but eventually, Dave just ends up snippy and upset and avoidant and he leaves you… confused. You tiptoe around him for a bit, remaining silent where you would have started conversations before, because if he’s going to be bitchy, then he can work himself through it and leave you out of it.

On the other hand, things with Haley aren’t going much better. It seems that whatever interest you held for her before is gone now. She smiles back at you, kind of, says hello to you, only not really, and then avoids every attempt at conversation you make with her. So you have to give up on that too. No harm, no foul, you suppose.

(Jade, when you talk to her about all of this, just grumbles under her breath about how only you would be able to screw up a sure thing with Haley, and you just roll your eyes and shove her until she quits trying to give you advice.)

You examine the hickeys Haley left on your neck one night and make a face. They’re red and slightly purple, and Rose has been poking them all week, flicking her eyes between you and Dave suspiciously, which, no, if she had ever paid attention, she would know that Dave never left any marks on you.

You tug at the collar of your shirt and sigh, bemoaning, “I don’t think I’m going to find a shirt that covers these.” There’s a sudden lack of noise from the main room, and you, feeling suddenly head-high as all of the tension from the previous days just comes to a head, keep talking. “I mean, it was a whole hell of a lot of fun, but I think I need to invest in some turtlenecks before I do this again. Rose and Jade were giving me some pretty-”

“Dude, nobody wants to hear about you getting your dick sucked again, Egbert,” Dave snaps, and you freeze. His tone is brittle, angry, and you step out of the bathroom to lift an eyebrow at him.

“Again? Come on, Dave, we’re best friends. Best friends are supposed to overshare, right?”

Dave frowns at you, tucking his shades into the collar of his shirt. “No, actually,” he says, too serious and too harsh. “You’re really not.”

“Pft, yes I am. It’s not like it really matters.” You rub the fading bruises on your neck, watching Dave’s eyes track the movement. He takes a step forward. “I mean,” you stammer, your words coming tangled in your mouth, “they’re hickeys, right? Who cares?”

(You don’t step back.)

“Last time I checked, John, _you did_.”

Dave’s close enough now that you can feel his breath on your face. You don’t move again, even though you wonder if you should, electricity sparking along your nerves as air gets harder and harder to breathe.

Your heartbeat is thundering in your ear. You sway, lick your lips.

You want to kiss him again.

So you do.

It takes a moment for it to register, for you to realize that you have a hand lightly, almost tentatively curled around his wrist, that your lips are pressed to his. The tableau holds for a beat, two, three.

And then Dave’s kissing you back, all teeth and lips and desperately gasped air. You are. Startled, you’re startled, that’s why you don’t move away, and it is familiarity, nothing more, that makes you pull him closer. Muscle memory. After all the times you and Dave have kissed before, it’s not weird to kiss him back, hot and wet and unrefined.

“Dave, wha-” you start, but the rest of your words are lost in a punishingly hard kiss. Dave pulls back to bite your neck a moment later.

“God, John, just-” he bites you again, buying time to think, and you turn your head with a quiet noise, exposing your neck for him more. “Shut up already.”

You can do that. Right now, you’re even grateful for the excuse to be silent. In lieu of words, you tangle your fingers into his shirt and belt loops, desperate for something to ground you. You push him carefully, fingers fumbling at the opening of his pants to get them undone. Dave strips you of your shirt, only barely managing to keep your glasses on as the two of you stumble backwards, kissing like it is painful to be apart.

You manage to maneuver your way over to a bed. One of them, either of them, you don’t care which, you just want to be lying down with Dave on top of you. Your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fall back onto it, squirm your way up onto the pillows, and you are turned on enough right now that the drag of sheets against your skin is enough to elicit a small shiver. Dave clambers over you, settling his hips against yours like the two of you never stopped doing this. You let your head fall back as Dave traces a hand down your side.

And then he just. Stops. Looking at you like he doesn’t quite understand what is happening.

He shifts to move away and your hand is already on his hip, pulling him back in, before you really recognize what you’re doing.

“Wh-”

“ _Dave_ ,” you whine, arching up into him. He can’t-. He can’t just stop like that, that’s rude. “Dave, come on.”

He hovers there, and you don’t look up at him. You turn your head to the side and you don’t look. You don’t know what he’s looking at while he waits, but you feel… stripped bare and open, and it’s a relief when Dave crowds into you again, teeth and mouth at your neck. Warmth spreads through you like ink through water, and you clutch Dave to you before you remember.

“Hey wait, no, stop,” you say quickly.

Dave immediately recoils, and you have to pull him back down closer to you. You would sigh, but you’re feeling too jittery, too… something to really muster the effort. Instead, you mutter, “No hickeys, remember?” and try to get Dave to continue.

But Dave doesn’t move. He holds himself over you again, staring, and this time you meet his gaze, something intense and ugly lurking around his eyes. “Yeah, because you don’t have any of those right now,” he snorts.

“I don’t have any fresh ones,” you argue, hips jerking as Dave drops his head down to drag his teeth against your sternum. “Someone would notice.”

“Someone,” he punctuates with a sharp bite, “would guess that you got them from the same fucking place, Egbert.” But he continues his slow way down your body, sucking a few light marks along the sensitive bones of your hips. He stops with his thumbs tucked into your underwear, and there’s this uncertainty to him that you just don’t like.

You wiggle slightly. “Hey, what’s the hold up?”

He blinks, shakes his head. “Nothing, sorry.” And he strips you before stopping again, his gaze far and distant in a way that makes your heart kickstart uncomfortably.

“Come on, Dave, don’t you-” you swallow roughly. Your pulse is a sickening lurch beneath your skin, hot and too much and nauseating. “Don’t you want this?”

Dave holds your gaze for a second, two, before he snorts under his breath, a derisive huff of laughter. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle the soft crease between your hip and thigh. “Like, damn, John, way to be the conductor on the never-getting-a-clue train.” But he lowers his mouth to your dick before you get to bitch at him for worrying you and taking too long.

It’s sloppier than any other blowjob Dave has ever given you, and it’s almost like he’s trying to prove a point. You thread the fingers of one hand into his hair, the other hand grasping desperately for a hold somewhere else, somewhere _real_. Dave’s tongue laves a long, wet line up your cock before he swallows you down again, and now, now you let yourself think it.

_Dave is so, so much better at this_. And the thought comes that yes, here you are again, with his glasses thrown to the side, his hand splayed across your hip, the taste of him riding along your tongue. You don’t think, you _very carefully_ don’t think that you missed this.

Dave lets your hip go. He pulls off, his hand moving quickly over you, and you register him catching his breath against your thigh before his mouth covers your cock again. Only this time, his free hand moves too. And instead of holding your hips down, he presses against the skin of your perineum. Which ratchets the pleasure you feel up just that little bit higher, and you can’t fight the roll of your hips as you moan. Dave rides the motion, his fingers pressing again, firmer this time, and it feels weird, but good, but weird, but you don’t want him to stop, even when those fingers start sliding further and further back.

You jolt when they brush your ass, when Dave slowly presses them against your opening. Plenty of time for you to move, really, but whatever, this isn’t about you, this is about Dave, and it doesn’t feel bad. Just… odd, though the more he does it, the better and better it feels. Quick, dry presses, and the faint promise of a stretch, combined with the slick suction of Dave’s mouth.

When you come, you bite the skin of your wrist hard, too undone to even wonder about what just happened.

Post-orgasm, you are shaking and quivering with a million unformed and unvoiced thoughts, and the only thing you clearly know is that you want Dave to be right here, going nowhere. You’re coming down from your orgasm high when Dave slithers up over you, pins you down by your wrists, ruts into the curve of your hips. You gasp and almost struggle but-

But he’s there, shaking and panting into the crook of your neck, every breath a needy whine, and you… don’t want to move. Except to shift your hips a little, give him an extra little push, and you can’t take your eyes off him.

He’s hovering just a few inches off of you, his hips stuttering into a wanton rhythm, and you are lost in the desperation etched into his expression. You try to reach up and touch his face, but he shoves your hands down with a growl (and wow, that’s… kind of hot, you’re not going to lie) and grinds against you harder and harder. You arch against him. “Dave…”

And then he bites your throat to block out his moan as he comes, his come spattering on your stomach, and you stare, wide-eyed, up at him. You want to ask so much about everything that just happened. Why did he start this again? Why didn’t you stop him? You thought you were done with the sexual side of your relationship. But Dave slumps to the side, finally letting go of your wrists, and you just… stay quiet and let him lie on you for a while. Moving doesn’t seem important with him breathing hard on top of you, every exhale tickling the fine hairs on your neck.

When he brushes the faintest of kisses across the bite mark on your throat, you shiver and let him do it.

Eventually, Dave shifts off of you and gets something to clean the two of you up. You are utterly unwilling to move from his bed, a deep, post-orgasm ache settling deep into your muscles, so you don’t protest when Dave slides in next to you, rearranges you to fit better on the narrow dormitory beds. You press your face into the crook of his neck.

Worrying about what just happened can wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter:
> 
> By Janecrockeyre:  
> [a short comic](http://janecrockeyre.tumblr.com/post/83649256306/when-you-read-something-so-horrifically-painful) depicting a scene from Chapter 4!
> 
> Art by Wolfie:  
> [Dave's reaction to John's hickeys](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100701531677/chuchacz-you-rub-the-fading-bruises-on-your)  
> [ What happens can wait until morning](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100274938412/chuchacz-and-then-he-bites-your-throat-to-block)


	5. Love at First Slightly Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the arm rest next to you, Dave's arm is pressed against yours, elbow to wrist, warm and familiar. You could just reach over and grab his hand. You could tangle your fingers with his. You could hold his hand and feel his skin, familiar and foreign at the same time, and you wonder if it would settle the nervousness sparking inside of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Midnight Coward" by Stars, another huge inspiration for this fic.

Moonlight stretches across your dorm room in pale strips, threading through the cheap blinds and throwing everything it touches into hazy, monochromatic relief. The air is filled with the quiet, deep breaths of sleep, intimate in a way only nighttime can be. The moonlight trails over the desks and across the floor before it meanders up the bed, across a washed out expanse of blankets and skin.

You, propped up on your elbow, watch John sleep.

In the desaturated moonlight, his eyelashes and hair are stark sweeps against his skin, his mouth faintly open with sleep. He is turned towards you, achingly vulnerable in a way you don’t know how to articulate with his forehead pressing gently against the upper part of your chest. Gently, you stroke his cheek with the trailing tips of your fingers. Your bones are heavy with a comfortable buzz from orgasm, but you can't seem to relax. Unease twists in your stomach, a quiet and waiting thing, and you can't stop yourself from wondering why you're doing this to yourself again.

Sighing, you rub your temples with one hand. Some of it makes more sense than the rest, you can admit that much. Your reason around John seems to always take a sharp dive off the nearest cliff.

You hate that she had him.

You hate it, and the feeling is a knot in your stomach that you can’t ignore, and it’s petty and jealous and completely-

Well, for you, it’s rational. Apparently, John still hasn’t gotten the goddamned memo about how you two were pretty much dating for a year, and then he decided to renege on the whole deal, which you were fine with, you really were (not), up until _he_ kissed _you_ again. He’s complicating things again just when you thought you were going to start moving past it.

But you still hate the sight of a hickey under his jaw that you know you didn’t put there because you’re not allowed to do that. You can’t do that to him, and _this girl can_ and your blood boils.

You touch the smooth skin over his tattoo on the nape of his neck. Idly, you trace the letters hidden in the darkness and let yourself think. She marked him, but she doesn’t know him. John is a mystery even to you sometimes, but you still know him better than almost everyone. You know what his laugh looks like when he’s happy and sad, you know how he sleeps, what his routines are. You know exactly how he quotes movies, how he goes quiet and watches other people. You know his bravado and his brashness.

You know him inside and out, and no matter what, she’ll never know him like you do. You don't even know her name.

In the meantime, you just have to wait and trust that it won’t happen again.

You content yourself with sliding your arm across his waist and waiting, burying your nose in his hair as sleep steals up over you.

You wake up slowly, blinking past the light in your eyes before rolling over with a disgruntled murmur. It takes you a second for you to process that there’s no warm body pressed up against you, that you’re cuddling a pillow and not John. You bolt upright, sleepiness gone in favor of the sudden, sickening anxiety shivering down your neck and shoulders. You look around the room and-

-at the foot of the bed, where John is sitting, curled with his knees to his chest and a blanket around his shoulders. His bare feet are resting on top of each other, toes flexing and unflexing in no discernible rhythm, and you follow the line of John’s bare legs up to his arms, half-covered in his soft gray sleep shirt, up again to his face. And John is watching you with an unreadable expression, blue eyes steady behind his glasses in the early morning light, and you swallow roughly, shifting so you’re sitting cross-legged. Carefully, you reach out and grab your shades, though you don’t put them on, playing with the legs instead.

The silence between the two of you is terrible.

You open your mouth, close it. What are you even going to say to break this? Just, ‘good morning?’ Does John want to pretend that you two didn’t have sex again last night, or…? Looking at him doesn’t give you any clues as to what John’s thinking.

If there was a soundtrack for your life, this moment right here would be the quietly intense piece that played over the tableau, and it would be soft and heartbreaking and maybe just this side of hopeful. Something you could listen to and not know if you feel sad or happy. Instead, all you really have is the hum of the air condition and the electronics in the room and the rasps of your breaths.

“So… that happened,” you say eventually.

Wow, good job, self, that was deep and meaningful and will _definitely_ change the tide of this oncoming shitstorm in your favor. It's a wonder John's ever been not-awed by you. You rub your face with one hand. Unbelievable.

“Yeah, it did.”

The sound of John’s voice surprises you, your hand dropping to your lap as you stare at him.

An agreement was not what you were expecting. You were expecting him to just shrug off the fact that you two slept together again, to ignore it and go on his merry way, but instead, John is slowly uncurling from his position at the foot of the bed, swinging his feet idly over the side as he steadfastly does not look at you. You catch a glimpse of those hickeys again, dark and red; your mouth slants to the side, a tic that you smooth out a moment later.

“I won’t say anything about it,” you blurt out, and John’s eyes, previously resting somewhere around your clavicle, snaps up to meet your gaze. You swallow roughly, but you don’t back down. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t say anything to anyone, and if it happens again, I won’t… I won’t tell anyone. Being.” You pause for a second, chew on the inside of your lip nervously. “Being friends with benefits worked for us once. We could always just try again.”

John raises an eyebrow at you, and you wince, closing your mouth with a faint click and looking away. Way to go, Dave, that probably wasn’t at all what he wanted to hear and there you went.

But you want him to agree with you.

You want him to say yes, and you want him to say no; you want him to say that he’ll only fuck you if you’re dating, and you want him naked and vulnerable for you exclusively again. You want him to say that he’s alright with shouting it to the world. You have no idea how he’s going to respond, though.

John takes a huge breath.

Lets it out loudly.

“Dude, I don’t know how that’s gonna work. The girls found out last time, and I don’t want anyone to know, because they’re going to get the wrong idea.” You open your mouth to respond to that, but John drags his hands roughly through his hair and continues without waiting. “I just. I don’t. I’m not gay! I’m not. I like girls. I had sex with a girl, so why the fuck did we-” he cuts off and waves at the space between the two of you. “You know. Why did that happen?”

 _Familiarity,_ you want to say, only the word is stuck tightly behind your teeth and no matter how much air you breathe in, it’s not enough to force the word past them. You want to tell John that you love him and you always have, that’s why you let him kiss you and kissed him back last night. That’s why you wanted to leave lovebites on him.

“I’m straight, not… Not any of this. I just don’t understand why.” John looks at you like he’s trying to puzzle out the secrets of the universe before he propels himself onto his feet and paces agitatedly going in circles in the confined space of your room.

 _Passion,_  you think, and you pull your knees up to your chest as you listen to the soft taps of his skin against the cold tile floor. That might have been just a bit of your imagination playing in there. You thought that maybe he would have wanted you back. It seemed like he did, like he was goading you to make the first move, and he _asked you_. John asked you if you wanted him, and that. That meant he wanted you too, didn’t it? That he wanted to be sure?

“Why did I…”

 _You love me_ , you hope, and even the thought of it dies, a petty, shriveled black thing in your chest. _You love me,_ you think with the promise of yelling and tears clenched tightly behind your teeth and pressed between your lips, and nothing you can do will ever force them out.

John collapses on his bed, across the room from you and rubs his face roughly with his hands, the rasp of his stubble against skin loud in the still air. “How did this happen again?” he asks, heavy and lost, and you have no words strong enough to answer him.

The atmosphere between the two of you is unbearable. You can’t bring the words inside you to the fore, and John, sitting on his own bed like his strings have been cut, his hair a rucked-up mess, seems to have vented anything he wanted to say. It’s almost a relief when your alarm goes off. You jolt at the sudden noise, reach over to grab your phone and silence it as soon as you can. Turning the phone over in your hands is a good substitute for looking up at John, and you do that a few times before you give up.

“I should…” You swallow. “I should get to class.”

John nods. He doesn’t look up from his hands, curled together in his lap.

“I’ll see you later?”

Another nod, and you suppose that’s your cue to bail the fuck out of there, changing your clothes before taking a scarf and your laptop bag in a whirlwind of motion. You're almost out of the room, where the door closing behind you will release the iron bands around your lungs, when John's voice stops you.

“I just need time to think.”

You glance over your shoulder. John hasn't moved at all. He opens his mouth, says, “Just give me some time to think, alright? I'll... figure it out.”

“...Sure,” you say, and that's all you can manage without the static in your head overwhelming you, so you exit the room as soon as possible. The door closes with a remarkably anticlimactic _click_. You let out a breath, drag in another one, and pull out a cigarette as you clatter down the stairs, lighting it with shaking hands.

This counts as stress. This counts as a lot of stress.

Smoking is a totally logical response to this.

You make it to your class’ building with time to spare and aggressively finish your cigarette in a wind-sheltered pocket made by a huddle of tired-eyed students. It’s a cold and dreary day already, last night’s clarity turning into this morning’s overcast haze, and you wonder with an absent sort of trailing thought if it’s going to rain today. You shake your head. It doesn’t really matter if it does or doesn’t. You snub out the end of your cigarette and toss it in a waste bin, the worst of your unease chemically mollified.

For now, anyway.

Walking into your classroom, you sigh and slump into your desk, pillowing your head on your arms. You haven’t even been awake for a full half-hour yet, and you’re already completely ready to give up on the day. Any good feelings you had from sleeping with John again are wasted with the anxiety still lurking in your bones.

Something impacts the desk with a deafening _thud_ , and you startle backwards.

“Hey, Strider, glad to see that you can still get your greasy, unwashed mop off my side of the desk. Some of us need to actually write shit down, and that requires space to plant our useless bullshit, like textbooks and our life goals.”

Grin already forming on your face, you look up to see a short, black-haired young man waiting impatiently by your desk and you salute him ironically with one hand as you make more room for him with the other. “Hey, Karkat. Sup.”

Karkat sneers genially. “Don’t you ‘sup’ me, Dave. I'm awake at eight o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday when everyone in their right mind would rather be asleep, including me, despite the fact that I’m not fucking sane.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. Now that he mentions it… “Yeah dude, Karkat, are you okay? You look kind of 'hair-of-the-dog' this fine, fine morning.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Hair of the-.”You cut yourself off and shake your head, deciding to not try and explain it further. “I was asking if you had been drinking.”

“Why the everloving fuck would I partake in alcohol, knowing that then I'd have to listen to my asshole of an older brother ranting on the evils of the drink?” Karkat’s scowl deepens and he rolls his eyes. “No, thank you, I’ll fucking pass. Ugh, he should’ve been born during the Prohibition. At least then his ranting, conservative bullshit would fit in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I thought your brother was kinda progressive.”

“Oh, he is. Progressively more annoying the longer he has you in his conversational clutches.” Sighing, Karkat takes the seat next to you and rubs the dark circles that are omnipresent under his eyes. “So no, I am not hungover, you blind shitstick. I am, however, running on three hours of sleep out of the last… thirty-six, and I’m going to see if I can make it an even forty without killing a man.”

You snort, a quiet laugh, and as always, it seems like Karkat’s presence makes some of your black mood lift. Pulling out your notebook and pencil, you ready yourself for class, shrug out of your hoodie, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Karkat still for a moment.

“So what’s the deal with those?” Karkat asks, tilting his head significantly at you, and you blink at him through your shades for a few seconds before he sighs and gestures more accurately at your neck.

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. You don’t actually know what to say. You just promised to keep it secret (you think), but keeping it secret doesn’t explain the hickeys John left on you. “I got lucky, I guess.”

Karkat narrows his eyes. “You guess? That’s a fucking weird way to put it.”

“Yeah. I guess. I scored, so I got hickeys as badges for my efforts.” You shrug, look away. “It’s not a big deal.”

Karkat is quiet for a long, long moment, but he sighs, raps tensely on the table with one knuckle. “So, do you feel ready for the test on Friday?”

“Hell yeah I do,” you say, grinning slightly and shamefully grateful for the change in subject. School, school you can handle, but right now you don’t think you want to talk about John. Your hand comes up to rub at your neck, skimming across the surface in the vain hope of finding anything different by touch alone.

You don’t feel anything at all, and you wonder at the fissure of unease that sends through you.

* * *

 

John’s not in the room when you get back.

You sit down on your bed with a long sigh, kicking off your shoes and drawing your knees to your chest. The light is oddly dim in the room, and your mind whirrs on about diffusion of light in the atmosphere and clouds and how ‘scenic’ and ‘moody’ the lighting is, and maybe if this wasn’t your actual life, you might be interested in capturing some of it to string up on your walls later.

Pushing your shades up to the top of your head, you rub tiredly at your eyes. You've done what you can with John, you reason. You told him how you felt (sorta) and what you want to happen (kinda) , and whatever happens next is his decision. You don't know what else to really do at this point. You slump face first into your pillows. Your heartbeat is too present in your veins, pulsing loudly through your neck and chest, and it feels full-to-bursting with hurt, your vulnerabilities exposed to anyone who looks.

You curl up on your side, tug your blanket over your shoulders, and hope that maybe you can just slip into unconsciousness. Maybe you can just wake up and everything will be solved and you can move past the lead in your chest. It's not gonna happen, you know that. But oh god, do you just wish that you could wake out of this situation like the bad dream it is.

The next thing you know, someone is pulling your shades off of your face.

You blink, and John blinks back, blue eyes turned bronze in the fading light of sunset, and you wonder why you're not jerking away. Instead, you only roll away from him, sit up, rub your face. You don't want to face him. You don't want to actually process what his expression is, if it's something tender or callous or disinterested or nothing at all.

Something nudges your arm, and you look down.

Your shades.

Gingerly, you take them before you finally face John. You turn the shades over in your hands, careful to not touch the smokey glass. You clear your throat. “So, have you... have you made a decision?”

With a sigh, John sits down on your bed next to you, his weight displacing yours slightly as the mattress adjusts. “A lot of it still depends on you, Dave. I just... I don't know what to think. We were doing fine and then we weren't and then we weren't talking about it, and now we are again? We stopped fooling around entirely for a while. I thought we were done.”

“You kissed me first,” you say quietly, weakly, because you will not let that fact be forgotten. John sighs roughly, drags a hand through his hair in your peripheral vision, and you adjust your stare to be a bit closer to his swinging legs rather than the floor or your sunglasses.

“Yeah.” John lets out a long, long sigh. “Yeah.”

Silence lingers.

You turn your head towards him.

“Why?”

“Why did I kiss you?” he asks, and when you nod, he sighs again, shorter this time. “I think...”

You wait for his answer, tension running tightly in your gut.

“...I didn't know what else to do, I guess,” John finishes. “It just seemed like the right move to make.”

“If you hadn't wanted the confusion, you could have just, fucking... not kissed me, you know.”

“You could have not kissed me back, too, but which one of us told me to shut up and keep kissing him?”

“You didn't have to.” John doesn't say anything to that, and you sigh, continue awkwardly, “Look, maybe this time, we just. Stick to it, okay? If we do this again, it's nothing complicated. Just letting off some steam together. We did pretty okay with that, right?

“So... Just occasional sex and us being friends?”

Heart pounding in your throat, you nod. “Yeah, just you and me this time.”

“And it doesn’t mean anything?” he asks. His voice is quiet and low, and you strain to hear it over the thundering pulse of your heart.

This is it.

This is when you get him back. With one phrase, you can have John again, in your bed and heart where you want him. And while there’s a part of you that worries - you’ve already been hurt by him; cut your loses; he’s never going to love you; just let it go easy, here where it won’t hurt as much - there’s a larger part still that hopes with knife-sharp clarity, that he’ll still just. Be yours.

That’s always what you’ve wanted.

(You just don't know that you want it like this.)

You open your mouth.

“No, it… it doesn’t mean anything.” You swallow, smile over at him, even though the expression is a little tense. “Promise. Just us fooling around.”

His eyes search yours, and he slowly, achingly slowly, pushes himself up to kneel on the bed and crawl over you. You let him push you down on your back, the air hanging heavy, heavy, heavy between the two of you as John refuses to break his stare. You’re not sure what he’s looking for when he stares at you like that.

The only consolation is, you’re not sure he knows what he wants either. You relax under him. The more you give, the more he’ll come to understand, you’re sure. If you just hang on, you can out-wait anything, anyone he brings into his life, you know it. Siege warfare of the heart, if you will. As long as you don’t give up.

And slowly, John lets himself rest on you.

His lips are soft and familiar as he kisses you, and you wrap your arms around him, pull him close as your heartbeat speeds up for reasons other than panic. This is good. If you can just keep John like this, everything will be fine.

You’ll make sure of it.

* * *

It’s strange, really.

After that, things… calm back down. It's like a breath of clear air after being locked in a stuffy room. You go back to snuggling on the couch, kicking each other’s feet while you watch bad movies and tossing popcorn and other snacks at each other. For the next few weeks, there's the ever-present wonder if John is going to lean down and kiss you, if he'll make that first step again, and sometimes he does, sweet and forceful and needy.

Sometimes, though, he looks at you like he still doesn't quite know what to do with you.

You don't always like that part, but at least now you can fight against it. Now you can slide to your knees and mouth along his inseam a little bit before blowing him. And sure, John's a bit more squeamish about reciprocation again, but you bet he's just … spooked.

Or something like that anyway.

(You ignore the cold voice that comes when you're sitting next to him on the couch, a movie playing ahead of you, that says that this isn't fixing anything; that things are getting only worse, and that this is more like using you than anything else has been so far. You're worrying too much. You must be.

You lean against him, and John is tense for one breath, two, three, before the tension in his body begins to drain out in fits and staggered contractions and he shifts so your head is resting more comfortably against his neck, the way you always liked it. On his lap, John’s fingers tap rapidly, the only outwards expression of his possible discomfort, and even that stills when you don’t do anything other than this.

You breathe him in. This will be enough.)

* * *

 

In the dark of your room, your hand is wrapped around John's dick, his leg hitched over your hip as you trade open-mouthed, gasping kisses, rutting and rubbing yourself to completion. John comes in silence, tensing and shaking, his own breath stopping as he twists in the sheets of your bed. You take your hand off him to finish yourself off.

Your mind is pleasantly whited out by your orgasm, your body made warm, and you run your tongue across your mouth, tasting the faint hints of copper where John bit down too hard. John, beside you, has his face turned away from you, and you…

Well, you tuck your hands between your knees. The want to reach out and trace his skin with your fingers, to lean over and kiss him slow and sweet, is unbearable right now, and something about the way he's closing himself off physically sends a sick-cold twist of uncertainty through you. You scoot just the smallest bit closer, carefully pressing your forehead into his shoulder, and John startles, like he wasn't expecting you to be there, and you pull away as he shifts towards you. John's lips brush the crown of your head.

You shake the uneasiness off and press back in.

* * *

A few days later, you spot John on his way back to the dorms as you're sitting outside, and you raise your hand, hailing him with the Vulcan salute. He ducks his head, tries to not look like he's noticed you, and you huff a laugh under your breath. “Don't try to ignore me, you nerdlord.”

John rolls his eyes at you but a smile keeps slipping back onto his face regardless of his attempts otherwise. You squint through your shades to watch him sit down on the grassy slope next to you, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “What in the world are you doing outside, Dave? Isn't it too cold out here for your southern sensibilities?”

The wind picks up again, chill and unwelcome, and you huddle into a miserable ball, stubbornly covering the cigarette hanging from your mouth. “Well, yeah, Virginia is too cold for me all the time, but there's this weird thing where people tend to not like it if I try to smoke inside. Something about fire codes.”

John laughs at that, and you smile to yourself before you ask, “So, where are you headed in such a hurry? Anything interesting for casa de Egbert?”

“Oh yeah! I was actually on my way back to tell you!” John's face is red in the cold and wind, which just makes his eyes even more unfairly blue. You force yourself to concentrate on what he's saying instead of his mouth. “I have a study session with a girl from my class, Lily! I don't know if I've mentioned her to you yet.”

Your lungs constrict suddenly, an iron band of tension, and you slowly lower your cigarette. “No, I... I don't think you have.”

“She's great. Funny and sweet, and I think you'd actually get along with her really well. You guys have sort of the same humor.” John grins wider. “And she's really cute, too.” He jolts, pulls his phone from his pockets as you curl up slowly, dread building sickly in your stomach. “Oh, yeah, okay, I have to hurry if I want to make it there before she gets there. See you tonight, Dave! Have dinner without me, okay?”

You open your mouth to say something, anything.

Nothing comes to mind.

“...Yeah. Yeah, have... fun.”

John laughs, and damn it, your heart still skips a beat and you breathe in deeply, snub your cigarette out on the ground as he pushes himself up. You watch him half-jog off to his study session, and you just have to hang on, you think to yourself as your fingers pull another cigarette out from your back pocket.

You'll tell the girls later that John just isn't going to join you guys for Valentine's Day, and they will huff about him canceling plans without warning. You will smile, or at least you try to, and you'll keep your head down.

You just have to hang on.

 

* * *

You hurry into the library, the warm air inside like a solid pressure, forcing you to shed the cold still clinging to you. Lily said she'd be meeting you on the second floor, if you remember right, so you head up the stairs. Your heart is thrumming quickly as you round the corner and see a fair-haired girl waiting at a table, her back to you.

Lily.

She's in Cytology with you, and the two of you were paired up for some bullshit assignment the professor has your class doing, and that, coupled with the round of tests coming up, means that you two decided to combine your efforts by studying and working on the project at the same time.

And you weren't lying to Dave, you think as Lily turns around. She is _really_ cute. With short, blonde hair and warm brown eyes and freckles adorning her skin, you know that your heart skipped a beat when you shook her hand for the first time. She's even taller than you, which you didn't know was a thing you liked until you saw her.

You wave as you drop your bag beside her chair. “Hey, Lily. What's up?”

“Ah, not much. Glad you could make it, though.” Lily smiles, and you smile back. “I just want to get this project out of the way as soon as possible.”

“I, yeah, me too. Um. Shall we, then?”

“Alright, so what do we want to do here...”

The planning session goes pretty smoothly from that point, and you two end up talking more and more about everything except class as the evening wends on. The topic meanders from school to studying to sharing stories about friends, and you are completely entranced with her by the time she is finishing a some story that began with her friend, involved some frogs, a colander, and some gasoline, and ended with the banning of said friend from the use of the kitchen sink.

“Oh my god, did he really?”

“Yes!” Lily laughs, brushes her short hair out of her eyes. You take a moment to just look at her, at the strong line of her nose, the gleeful light in her brown eyes, and you laugh with her. The idea of not laughing never once crosses your mind. Not when Lily's smile sends pleasant shivers down your skin, when you can laugh with her and only feel your enjoyment grow.

And abruptly, you realize, that was the problem with your last date.

She didn’t make you laugh! And while you’re not usually a Jessica Rabbit kind of guy, it really did make a difference if they could make you laugh. Relationships aren’t about what people look like, after all; it’s about how you get along with each other. You and Dave get along great, after all, and you can’t seem to keep your hands off of him, no matter how many times the two of you promise to stop. You straighten up, cheeks beginning to hurt from the smile on your face.

“Man, you remind me of one of my friends, actually,” you say with a grin, and she smiles back at you, tossing her short blonde hair out of her eyes.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, it is. It’s great, actually. My friend is amazing.” You drag your teeth over your lower lip, considering. “Hey, would you maybe want to get some dinner with me?”

“Ooh, bold move, Mr. Egbert.”

“Psh, yeah, inviting a pretty girl to the cafeteria so I can keep talking to her. So classy.” But you jokingly bow and pull out her chair as she stands, and Lily tilts her head up into a facsimile of a snooty glance, pretending to brush great skirts out of her way as she gathers her books and bag. It lasts until you meet her eyes, and then the jig is up.

You and Lily break into fits of laughter and walk together to the cafeteria, and it's not until you see the building festooned with red and pink decorations that you remember that it's Valentine's Day. You, Dave, and the girls all had something planned for tonight. A small movie night and exchange of sweets or something. Guilt flashes through your stomach, and you check your watch. Maybe, if this dinner with Lily doesn't last too long, you can still make it there and make it up to them.

It should be fine.

* * *

You show up at the room after midnight, when the cafeteria has finally thrown everyone left in it out, and you've walked Lily back to her room. But the lights under Rose and Jade's door are off, and there is no sound of a movie. You press your ear to the door, and no, there are no voices or conversations being had. With a sigh, you turn on your heel to walk to your room. It can't be too bad. You didn't get any texts or calls.

They would have said if they were upset.

But still, when you go back to your room, Dave is a small, sullen lump in the blankets that you don't bother disturbing as you climb into your own bunk, unease sparking along your nerves. You settle in. You shift around, your muscles too tense and your pillow not soft enough and you feel too hot, and you can't get comfortable. For a brief, insane second, you look over at Dave.

Maybe you could go over to his bed...? He wouldn't try to stop you. Probably, anyway. You're beginning to understand that you could press Dave for almost anything, and he'd let you do it.

But no, you roll over instead, determined to just go to sleep.

It takes you a while to fall asleep, and when you do, you dream of Lily's smile and Dave's laugh, and you are torn, torn, torn.

* * *

 

You apologize for the Valentine's mishap by taking everyone out to dinner, and that smooths out the divot in Dave's brows, until you bring up the meeting with Lily. Jade and Rose are appropriately interested in her, and they tease you gently about meeting her. Dave says nothing.

(That is a common theme. Dave says nothing while you laugh, and he is tense when you brush your fingers across the outsides of his thighs, but he tangles his fingers with yours regardless. You don't know who he thinks he's fooling, but you reach out time and time again without even thinking about it.)

You start walking with Lily to your classes that you share where before you would have walked with Dave. He seems to be leaving for his classes earlier and earlier, and you can't argue, not when it gives you a chance to talk to her, to ask her out to another dinner, which she agrees to with a smile as she opens the door to her room.

You wave as Lily closes the door behind her, and she smiles, waggles her fingers, and the click of the latch is like a signal for you to breathe.

“See, that's sort of what I thought too, but hey, what do I know? Well, some _one_ else, anyway.”

You turn around to see your cousin poking her head out of her room, and you grin. “Jade!”

With a laugh, Jade comes out to knock her shoulder against yours as you start walking back to your room. “Playing the field again already after … Haley? Right?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm not playing any field, Jade. Lily's my partner in Cytology. And she's really cute, so I might ask her out or something.”

Jade looks at you suspiciously. You shift and shove your hands into your pockets. “Do we have to have the condom talk?”

“What!? No!”

“I dunno, John, last time you got laid-”

-a hot pulse floods your body as you remember Dave laid out and shaking beneath you and you swallow-

“-it was in a bathroom stall and I bet you didn't have any protection because you're dumb.”

(You breathe out.)

“Jade, I really don't want to talk about this.” You stop with your hand on your door, turning to look over your shoulder at her as you pull your key from your pocket. “Can we not have this conversation, please? I know how to stay safe in sex.”

Jade has the decency to wait until you're both inside your room (which, thankfully, is empty. You've never been so glad to find Dave not home) before continuing. “Yeah, uh, last I remember, you were talking about getting your dick sucked by some chick in a bathroom stall? You _might_ want to reconsider your 'I know how to safe sex bluh bluh' status. I mean, this isn’t supposed to be bad on her, but she did suck you off in a _bathroom stall with no condom._ Which means she didn’t give a shit.”

“Well-” you start.

“John, that’s really unsafe! You might have had something you didn’t know about! _She_ might have had something she didn’t know about! STDs, man, they’re everywhere. Learn from me, okay? Anytime _I_ decide to have sex with someone, I make sure we’re wearing some kind of protection.” Jade claps her hand on your shoulder, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“…You have sex with people?”

“John, that is absolutely the _wrong thing_ to take away from all of that!” Jade sighs heavily, rubbing her forehead with the fingers of her free hand. “Yes, John, I have sex with a lot of people. It’s nice, it’s fun, it’s easy, and it involves plenty of orgasms for everyone involved! Good times are had by all! Especially since we all use protection, so no one has to worry about catching an unwanted STD.”

You consider this statement, open your mouth. “... How many people are you sleeping with??”

“Why does that matter?” Jade cries, throwing her hands up in the air. “I just. Okay. If I decided to skip classes for a day, and all of those classes had attendance quizzes, I would know that at least a solid quarter of the people in each of those classes are indebted to me by virtue of the many orgasms we have shared, and they would totally cover for me. Can we get back to the original subject yet?”

“You… You’ve had sex with a lot of people.”

“Yes, John. Yes I have. Good observation skills. That’s not the point. The point is that you and Dave and whoever else you've been having sex with have not been practicing safe sex! You need to wear a condom! Wear gloves! Make sure that the other person is on something that prevents pregnancy, at the very least! It doesn’t matter what you’re doing now! You’ve had sex with more than one person. In fact, you and Dave should have been wearing protection all the times you two were _having_ sex.”

You shrug awkwardly and look away from Jade, hands fidgeting. “Dave and I haven’t had sex.”

Jade looks at you, sighs. She lifts an eyebrow in a way that just speaks volumes, crosses her arms. Nothing more than that is necessary, and you find yourself shrugging just for something to do. The silence stretches long between you two.

You turn away from her, anxiety flooding your arms and neck with cold prickles and waves of unease. Now that you think about it, you've ended up touching Dave with a frequency that is frankly alarming, and it's that fact that makes you mutter, “Look, I’ll be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, you’d better be careful!” Jade slaps you on the shoulder again, but when you turn to look at her, she's grinning in that easy, wide-mouthed way she has, and you can't help but smile faintly back. “Geez. Just promise me that next time you get your dick anywhere near anyone else, you wrap it up. Even if it’s Dave.”

“Dave and I aren’t-“

“I don’t care what you and Dave are or aren’t doing. He’s kind of an idiot when it comes to you, so I bet he never brought any of this stuff up. Besdies, I’m happy enough knowing that you’re not going to be a major dumbass next time you get freaky.” Jade sighs, sits on your bed, and curls her knees up to her chest.

You sit down next to her, and the silence between you two persists for a few moments before you ask, “…So you sometimes skip classes?”

Jade laughs. “John, you have the singular ability to focus on all of the wrong things, you know that right.”

“It’s a god-given talent.”

“Look, sometimes a girl needs a break from physics. Sometimes a girl needs a break from classes to frantically work on physics in the library. Other times, a girl needs to have some hands-on understanding of the wonders of physics in conjunction with the human body. I’m just so done with all of this boring _math_. I like math, but can we just please get to the shit that I _don’t know already_. I could be doing so much more than this. Like building self-sustaining fusion reactors.”

The door opens right then, and you and Jade look up to watch Dave drop his bag with a heavy sigh. He looks up, sees you, and a faint smile quirks his mouth. “Jeez, watchdogs much? Can't a guy drop his shit without being inspected like that?”

You and Jade both chime, “No,” in unison, and Dave laughs.

“Well, alright then. What's the plan for tonight?”

Jade jumps off of your bed, hurries over to Dave, all the while talking animatedly, and you rest on your bed, watching Dave. The smile you had slowly falls into something more serious. Quietly, you let your gaze travel over his face, noting his freckles and the familiar sweep of his jaw, up to his lips and nose and eyebrows as Dave takes his shades off.

What Jade had said bothers you.

 _He’s kind of an idiot when it comes to you_.

You can’t exactly disagree. This thing, arrangement, whatever, between you and Dave has seriously muddied the waters between the two of you. until neither of you quite knows what’s going on with it. You should probably break it off, you realize. If you’re serious about Lily, you should stop wanting to have sex with Dave, stop thinking about him like that.

You watch Dave loops his thumbs through his belt loops, cant his hips forward, and a low, interested heat curls through you. The breath you let out is shaking and quiet.

That’s the problem.

You’ve _tried_ to break off, but you keep wanting him. And there’s no reason for him to keep letting you come back.

Unless.

Unless he was lying to you when he said that this thing between you meant nothing.

As you meet the vibrant red of Dave's eyes, you allow yourself, in shuddering, terrified steps to acknowledge the revelation you had been avoiding.

Unless he loves you.

It's strange to consider it in concrete terms like that, but you can't think of any other reason Dave would allow you back again and again, past the point that a friends-with-benefits situation would allow. Hell, past the point most _friendships_ would allow.

God, what are you doing? If it’s true, if Dave _is_ in love with you, then you’ve been using him. And for what, sex? An easy way to get off? You swallow past the sudden rise of nausea you have, sick with yourself. He's in love with you and you don't love him back. And you know now that you need to stay away from him.

And despite that, you keep finding yourself drawn to him. Time and time again, you turn back to Dave, and really, this revelation shouldn't matter. You don't love him back, so it should be easy for you to cut out the sex from your relationship again and allow him to move one. But you want to kiss him, even though you’ve found a better outlet for that in Lily.

Dave cocks his head at you, curious, and you shake yours, something like unease curling through you. It tastes a bit too much like a sick sort of guilt at the comparison, and you don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to dwell on what you’re doing to Dave or with him, what, logically, you should be doing with Lily.

Whatever it is that you're thinking, it's not important.

You push yourself off the bed to stand with them, and you don't think about how warm Dave is, how warm his mouth is, the touch of his hands, his eyes.

* * *

(Despite your resolution of not touching him again, Dave ends up between your legs that night anyway, because you put him there, you wanted him there. His mouth is incredibly warm even through the condom, wrapped around your cock. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling the strands as you thrust into his mouth, your groans muffled by your clenched teeth.

Dave is shaking as you do. You don't let yourself think about why.

When you come, you swear tightly, and Dave pulls back to rest his cheek on your thigh as he touches himself. It feels close and too close. When he looks up at you, you don't meet his gaze.)

* * *

The weather is warming up a few weeks later as March begins, and your second round of tests are over. Spring Break begins in a week, and it will be the first time that Lily won't be around for a few days. You've finally introduced her to Dave and the girls officially, and you walk out of the girls' room with your hand in Lily's and a smile on your face.

“That went well,” you say, and Lily grins up at you.

“I think so, yeah. I mean, I wasn't immediately tossed out on my ass, so I'm pretty pleased.”

You snort. “They wouldn't have done that, Lily. But you see what I mean about my friends? I told you they'd like you. Oh, here we go,” you mutter as you open the door to your room. Lily follows you inside, and you flop down onto your bed with a pleased sigh.

“So, John.”

You look up at Lily. Something about the atmosphere makes your heartbeat spread louder and wider through your chest and throat, and you lick your lips. “Yeah?”

Lily doesn't quite meet your eyes. “We've been having dinner and going on a few dates for the last few weeks, yeah? And I've been having a great time with you, so I was wondering if, maybe, we should... make it official?”

You blink.

And smile.

“Like, start dating sort of official?”

Lily laughs, flips her bangs out of her eyes. “Well, at least actually start dating and do the whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ thing,” she says with air-quotes and a quick eye roll, and you duck your head to hide your instinctive urge to shrug.

Dating.

Yeah, that. Sounds like a great plan. That's what you were going for, right? Lily and you get along great together, and this would be a good way for you to finally break things off with Dave. In a final sort of way. You like Lily well enough, so maybe this will allow the weirdness between you and Dave to settle enough that he can move on. So. “Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.” You stand right as the door opens and Dave walks in, his sunglasses propped up on his head.

He glances between you and Lily, pulls his shades back into place. “Sup, guys? Don't everyone just stop and stare, I know I'm hot but come on, have some decency. Even a diva needs his down time.”

Lily, sweet Lily, laughs and says, as dread and horror drop low into your stomach and you go white-cold with nerves, “Pfft, you nerd. No, I just asked John to be my boyfriend!”

There it is.

Dave freezes.

Even with his shades on, you know, right now, that he is looking directly at you. He is staring and his mouth is a flat, tense line. “Oh? And what'd the lucky bastard-” said with just a touch too much fire to be neutral, and you wince- “say?”

“Yes!” Lily enthusiastically kisses you. You can't manage to start kissing her back before she pulls away.

You can't stop looking at Dave.

Feeling creeps in slowly in place of the fear, though your panic is still suffocating you and you can barely bring yourself to smile or say anything. It's like attempting to operate underwater. Everything is too slow and bleeding out and coloring the water. All you can do is smile and curl your hand around Lily's waist and watch Dave slowly regroup.

(You wanted some time to talk to him alone about this, you realize. You wanted to explain why you were doing it, not just leave it, open and gaping like a wound between you two.)

He nods, short, sharp, like he expected this, and finally, he walks further into the room. “Good for the both of you.”

And then he pulls out his laptop, lays down on his side.

His back is turned towards you, and your heart is twisting painfully in your chest and you can't seem to quite look away.

“Well, it's late,” Lily says, her hands looped around your neck. You have to force yourself to focus on her, and you smile, meeting her gaze. Her eyes, brown and lovely, examine you for a moment before she smiles.

“Yeah, it is. Do you want to stay the night?” you ask, and Lily looks at you with warmth in her eyes.

“I'd love to,” she murmurs. “Let me go grab some clothes and I'll be right back.”

She leaves.

The air is heavy behind her. With a sigh, you start getting changed into your pajamas, and it's only when you've finished pulling the soft fabric of your pants over your hips that Dave shifts. You still, look over at him.

“So,” Dave starts, rolling over onto his back. “You have a girlfriend.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, um. Seems that way.”

“...she seems nice.”

“Yeah, no, Lily's great. I just ...” You see Dave look over at you, visibly tense. “I just wasn't expecting her to ask me out? So I guess I said yes as...” You trail off. Well. You do like her. You didn't say yes out of any sort of pity or anything like that. You can’t say that, not if you want to stop your cycle. But at the same time, the answer still doesn't rest quite right with you. Dave sits up, but you continue before he says anything, “I don't know. I said yes because I like her, right?”

“Isn't that something you should have figured out before saying anything at all?” Dave asks, soft and rough and hurting, and you wish that you had gotten to talk to him alone first.

You shrug defensively. “I like her, so I said yes. There's nothing more to it.”

Dave snorts. “I wasn't saying there was, Egbert. Don't push your insecurities off on me, alright? I've got a train of my own issues to deal with before I can even get around to worrying about the minutia of yours. I don't fucking care if you want to date this girl, just-”

The door opens, and Dave cuts himself off. Lily seems completely unaware of the tension before her, as Dave rolls over to ignore you again. She smiles at you.

You smile back and hope that it doesn't look as tight and uncomfortable as it feels.

“Hang on, let me get the lights,” you say. You flip the switch and find your way back to bed by the blue light of Dave’s laptop screen. You smile at Lily as you slide under the covers with her. Trying to get comfortable with the two of you in your narrow bed is almost impossible, which is strange. You've shared a bed before, with Dave, and it never seemed this hard to get yourself aligned and cuddling close.

Lily's head ends up pillowed on your shoulder, her breath gusting close to your ear, and you can't quite shake the feeling that there should be arms around you, a smooth shoulder under your cheek, one of Dave's legs tangled between your own.

But that's not important, you remind yourself.

That's not what's happening right now.

You breathe out, stirring the blonde hairs on Lily's head, close your eyes, and resign yourself to sleeping uneasily. You just have to get used to it, that's all. Lily shifts against you, her hand brushing against the sensitive skin of your hip, and your nerves light up. You can feel your heart beat speed up, and if you can feel it, then she must too. And Lily looks up, her eyes wide and dark in the shadows of your room.

“John,” she whispers, barely more than a breath.

“Yeah?”

Instead of saying anything else, Lily just moves her hand, curious and seeking, as she gently cups your cock. Your breath hisses through your teeth

You spare a thought to Dave in the bed across the room, the soft blue light of his laptop the only source of illumination. But. Lily's your girlfriend now. You and Dave probably aren't going to do anything else now that you're dating her, right? Even with that rationalization, though, it doesn’t quite feel right. It isn’t fair to Dave for you to fool around right in front of him like that, you tell yourself, and your heart just isn’t in it.

When you open your mouth to agree, what comes out instead is, “Later,” and you’ve never been more grateful for Lily’s quiet acceptance of that statement.

(It isn’t any easier to breathe. Dave is in the bed across the room from you, and that feels. Wrong, and you hate the idea that this is hurting him.)

* * *

There's a gentle press on your lips, waking you slowly out of slumber. You grumble, reach out to try and reel Lily back in, but she's already laughing gently and rolling out of bed and dressing. By the time you've sat up and put your glasses on, Lily is already out the door, hurrying to her first class of the day.

You smile dopily at the door.

God, she's just something else.

“Good morning to you too, John, glad you slept well, and you know what, it would've been great if I could have said the fucking same.” Dave says, and you start, turning to look at him across the room. Then you blink and take full stock of him. He looks. Well, he looks like shit, you think, watching Dave tiredly push his bangs back from his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and there are bruises like thumbprints below his eyes.

“Morning, Dave,” you say. “You look... Did you sleep like shit or something? You look exhausted.”

“Or something.” Dave rubs the bridge of his nose before he pushes himself up, and you follow him to the bathroom with unsteady steps, leaning in the door frame as Dave pulls his toothbrush out of the cabinet. He brushes his teeth in silence as you try to think of something to say.

 _God, I’m glad Lily and I didn’t have sex last night,_ you realize, eyes widening. That really could’ve been bad. You run your hand down your face, exhaling hard, and Dave spits into the sink and rinses his mouth out.

As you think, Dave braces his hands on the counter top, his shoulders squaring. “Were you even going to tell me?” he asks, tired.

“...About Lily?”

He nods, blond hair shifting with the movement.

You furrow your brows. “Of course I would have. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Dave shrugs one shoulder, a short, jerky movement, and your frown deepens. He’s not looking at you, lashes lowered to curve in an almost delicate semi-circle against his cheeks. “You didn’t seem too happy about her telling me.”

“That was. Dave, that was because I wanted to tell you in private.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter now,” Dave mutters with another shrug, and he makes to leave the bathroom, turning his body to slide past you.

As he moves past you into the main room, you grab his shoulder. “Hey, you’re… not mad at me, right?”

Dave sighs, and you can see his eyes close behind his shades. There’s something about the set of his eyebrows and the way his mouth moves, like he’s trying to say something but refuses to let it out, makes you incredibly curious.“No,” he finally answers, voice rough. “No, I’m not mad at _you_.” And the way he says it… you know he means another thing entirely. He's not mad, he says, but it's like he's furious, all the things he doesn't want to say lurking behind his lips.

After a long moment where you’re locked there -you staring at him, Dave pointedly not looking at you- he shoulders you off with a faint (sickly) grin and moves into the room to grab his clothes. You are left in the doorway, watching him dress quietly. The silence in the room is uncomfortable, more because Dave is clearly trying to make it not awkward and failing miserably and you cannot bring yourself to reciprocate the attempts.

“See you after class, John.”

You sigh. “Yeah, see you.”

The door closes.

With another heavy breath, you turn to look outside, where the early light of the morning is spreading across the campus in bold golden strips. You try to find serenity in that, in the contrast between blue and gold, and while your muscles ease a little bit, your thoughts only get more muddled, Dave's and Lily's warmth tangled up into an irreconcilable mess. You gather your school supplies and prepare yourself to listlessly go through the day, your mind occupied by other things. You have labs today, so you're not seeing Lily unless she comes by the room or meets up with you along the way, which has happened before.

You pause with your hand on the door.

Lily's your girlfriend now. You have a girlfriend.

...huh.

You always thought you'd be more excited about that. You should probably call your dad and let him know. He'll be happy.

You shake your head and straighten your shoulders determinedly, and wade through your labs with a bull-headed sort of attention. By the time you get back to your room, your previous mood is forgotten in the haze of academics, and you close the door behind you with lighter shoulders.

Dave greets you with an easy, “Hey, man,” and you smile weakly back at him. This might end up alright after all.

If he's willing to drop the weirdness, than so are you. And with that in mind, you approach Dave, knock your knuckles into his shoulder companionably. Dave grins at you, and your eyes are caught by the curve of his lower lip, and the sudden, visceral memory of that smile against your skin. You flood with heat, pricking at your skin all over. You inhale slowly, watching Dave gesture widely.

You realize, suddenly, that you want to kiss him.

You were supposed to get over this.

Dave has moved away from you, talking about something to do with his art project when you close the distance again. He pauses, turns towards you.

“John?”

Ah, screw it.

You know full well what you're doing when you curl your hands in his stupid shirt and drag him down the scant inches that separate you two. You know what it means when you cup the back of Dave's head and kiss him, insistent and needing, and you feel a moment of triumph when you feel Dave's hands settle at your hips.

Dave pulls back, still close enough that his breath gusts across your lips. You can see him search your face for something, some hint that he needs, and you make an annoyed noise before trying to lift yourself up just enough to kiss him again. He jolts away. Licks his lips. “Don't you have a girlfriend?”

You frown, and you stop, stepping back from Dave. He’s right. He’s right, you have Lily, and Dave should be getting over you, but having Lily hasn't soothed the itching for Dave, the way you want to run your tongue over his lips and see if he still tastes the same. You want him, you still want him, why can’t you stop this?

“If you have a girlfriend, John, we shouldn't-”

(You know you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t do this to Dave, you should stop and back away and let this die out the way it’s supposed to.)

“Fuck that,” you groan, half to yourself and half to him. “Just fuck that and kiss me already.”

Dave's hands tighten on your jeans.

You lick your lips. “Please, Dave.”

He’s never been good at refusing you.

* * *

 

You wave at Rose and Jade as they drive off, let out a breath that clouds in the cool morning air. It's Saturday, the start of Spring Break, and you are going absolutely nowhere for it. You and Dave both elected to stay here while Rose and Jade go up to Rose's house. Something about a “girl's week” and exploring the forest surrounding Rose's house, both things that sound interesting, but not enough for you to give up your week long laze-fest that you have planned.

(The schedule for that is strenuous and involves sleeping and playing video games and... not a lot else.

It's a good plan.)

The last of the snow has finally given up and has all melted within the last few days, now that temperatures are regularly above freezing, and you tilt your head back to give the overcast sky a baleful squint. For all that there's cloud cover, it's bright cloud cover. Whatever, makes you feel at home at least.

A drop of rain hits you on the cheek. You blink, looking up as a soaking drizzle begins to fall from the sky.

Definitely like home.

You sigh and head inside, ready to either fall back asleep or to curl on on the couch with a few video games. By the time you get back inside, the drizzle has escalated to something resembling a downpour, echoing faintly throughout the mostly-empty dorms. You open your door, breathe in. The faint, warm smell of sleep is saturating the air, and you yawn habitually as you take off your shoes.

Yeah, a nap seems to be in order.

You shed your pants easily as you move further into the room. Dave is still under his blankets, and you take a moment to look at him. And the world slows to nothing more than a murmur.

His head is tilted up, lips parted just barely, vulnerable and open in sleep, and you notice the barest smudges of bruises below his eyes, signs of the stress that's been on him recently, and a faint pang of guilt hits you under your sternum. You haven't been around as much as you usually are, since you have your new girlfriend to be with, which probably hasn’t been any good for him. You'll make up for it this week, you promise yourself. You'll be practically attached to him if you have to be. You won't make any moves, and you'll get things back to a friendly baseline. That will make it better. You're sure.

You sigh and-

-breathe in again, leaning in closer to Dave.

Huh.

He smells... like cigarette smoke. It's not a smell you're unused to, what with your dad smoking and Dave's own habit of stress smoking, but it's a little stronger than it usually is. You look him over before shaking your head. Dave is probably wearing the same shirt he was last time he smoked or something like that. The smell always lingers no matter what, so it's not too surprising.

“Dude.”

You jerk away from Dave, meeting his sleepy gaze. He grins, unfocused in the way the recently awoken always are, and his words are gravelly as he says, amused, “Did you just sniff me?”

Snorting, you cross your arms across your chest. You also take a step away from his bed. “Yeah, I was trying to figure out what smelled like ass, and it turned out to be your attitude, Dave.”

“Harsh.” Dave pushes himself upright, though he shivers a moment later and pulls the blanket up around his shoulders. “A guy just tries to get himself some shut eye and this is the kind of scrutiny he comes under? Didn’t your father teach you to not take advantage of a lady while she sleep? Good job, John. I am a trusted citizen of this domain,” and you roll your eyes, which Dave and responds to by getting louder, “a _trusted citizen_ , I tell you, and I refuse to be treated this way!”

“Oh yeah? And how are you going to deal with it, huh?” you mock gently.

Dave narrows his eyes. “March your happy ass to town hall and we'll have the lawyers sort this out, courtroom showdown style.”

“Or maybe,” you say slowly, “we could skip the lawyers and-”

“Go straight to the Ticklefight of Justice? Good plan, John, I'm glad to see you're so responsible and want to cut out the middleman. I mean, that’ll make the laywer's lives harder and I'm sure they have children at home they need to feed and spouses and come to think of it, John, you're ruining their lives, how could you do tha- _ack_!” Dave sputters as you smack him with a pillow, bringing his arms up in a paltry defense against your attack.

The fight that ensues is not graceful, and it ends with you both gasping for breath, calling a truce with a fist bump and a laugh.

You, lying on your back on Dave's bed, feel a knot in your chest loosen. This is good and easy, and this week is going to go by smoothly. “Dave.”

“Sup, my main man?”

“One, never call me that again, you giant nerd, and two, do you wanna play video games?”

“Do you ever have to ask me if I'm up for kicking your ass in the morning, Egbert, because the answer is yes, I am always up for a throwdown, vidya game style.”

You don't bother dignifying that with a response, instead pulling yourself up and heading for the couch. Dave sits down next to you, and you smile to yourself. This is good. You're going to spend this Spring Break having fun with your friend, and nothing more.

* * *

 

It's Wednesday, and you've lost track of how you've ended up on Dave's bed like this, with his hands on your arms, legs tangled together awkwardly at the knees, but here you are. Dave pulls back from a kiss, his hand curled at the divot of your hipbone, and breathless, he asks, “Hey, so, awkward, but do you wanna try fingering me?”

You blink. “Like...?”

“You. Fingers. Latex glove and some lube, getting fifty kinds of friendly with a hole that most people wouldn't bother playing around with, aka my ass. Do you want to give it a shot?”

“Isn't that a little, you know,” and you trail off. Dave cocks one perfectly arched eyebrow at you over the rim of his shades.

“...a little...?”

You gesture, hoping that he'll understand what you're trying to get at, and Dave just spreads his hands with you before shaking his head, clearly not following you.

“What, is it a little intimate for you?” he asks, taking his sunglasses off.

You sigh. “Sure, intimate, that's a word for it. Sticking your fingers in another guy is just a little weird.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “If you don't want to do it, that's fine, dude, it was just a thought.” He shifts a little, his knees pulling in towards his body in an oddly self-conscious move. “But if you're not gonna, can we get the rest of the party going then before my boner decides to samba off or something.”

“Dude, gross.”

You take a moment to just assess Dave, to look him over. His face is turned away, arms drawn in tight to his sides, his knees knocking together in front of you, and you slide a hand up the warm backs of his thighs. Dave shivers at the contact, relaxing just enough for you to spread his legs a little bit. You look down at his cock, back further at the puckered ring of muscle and try to imagine putting your fingers in there. Imagine the way Dave would look as you fuck him like that. You lick your lips.

This would be another easy out, another place to not take that step forward, where you casually bow out and remind Dave to move on.

But.

“...So, you mentioned a glove?” you say, quietly, and Dave's legs twitch in your grip.

When you look up, he's staring at you, lips parted. “Seriously?”

You awkwardly shrug. “Yeah, where's the stuff?”

What follows is Dave walking you through slicking up your gloved fingers (when you asked what the glove was for, he just stared and asked you if you had _really_ thought about where you were about to try putting your hand; you put on the glove pretty quickly after that) and pressing them to Dave's entrance. He winces when you do, his face screwed up in pain, and you stop.

“Dave, are you really sure about this?”

“Nnng, yes, just keep going, damn it.” Dave squirms slightly, either towards you or away from you, you can’t honestly tell. You make a face, but keep pressing a finger inside him.

But Dave’s so nervous that his erection is already half gone. You sigh. He insisted on this, you have no idea why, but he did. So you have to keep going. After a few minutes, his breathing is quick and hitching with every thrust of your fingers (up to three now, he’s stretched remarkably fast which makes your dick twitch when you think of the implications of that, the idea of Dave doing this to himself hitting you especially hard).

Slowing down makes him groan and squirm down against your hand, but you ignore that. “And I’m supposed to crook them now, right?”

“Fuck, yes, just.” Dave bites his lip and tries to relax, you can feel his muscles quivering. “Please. I’ll let you know if you- fuuuuck!”

You grin up at him, pride and arousal lancing through you as you try curling your fingers against that spot again. “Found it?”

“John, John, please, fuck-” and Dave bites his lip hard, turns his head away, and you just keep pressing him until he comes undone, a muffled scream tearing its way past his clenched jaw.

You strip off your glove, start cleaning your fingers, yourself, the come from Dave’s stomach, and you find your eyes drifting back to Dave with a surprising amount of frequency, watching how his muscles quiver in the soft aftershocks of his orgasm, how lax and pliable he seems right now. Dave lets out a long breath before pushing himself up on his elbows. He's grinning just a bit, and you smile back.

“So. Wanna play some video games?”

“Hell yeah.”

(You don't think about your girlfriend until later that evening, and when you do, you lose focus long enough to get your ass completely handed to you in Super Smash Brothers.

You completely forgot.

That isn't something you should forget, and that is the only thought you have while Dave laughs and strikes a dorky victory pose next to you.)

* * *

 

You kiss Lily on the mouth when she comes back, enthusiastic and relieved in her presence, and you don't think about Dave. March bleeds slowly into April, and you find yourself spending more and more time over in Lily's room, curled up with her or trying to ignore her retelling the same stories about her (kinda boring) group of friends. You don't think about Dave at all. Not when she takes you back to her room, not when your hand is tangled in her short, blonde hair. You don't think about Dave when you fuck Lily for the first time.

When you come, it's not because you imagined him below you instead of her.

(You fall asleep, disoriented and uncertain of your location because of the warm body in front of you instead of behind you.)

But the days pass, and you wake up one morning  to short blond hair tickling your face as a warm hand gently strokes your cock to full hardness, and you sigh, pleased and relaxed. “Dave?” you rasp out, about to tilt his head up for a kiss.

The hand slows a little. “Unless your roommate crawls into bed with you and gives you good morning handjobs pretty often, no?” Lily asks, and your mind blanks out except for one word.

Shit.

You sit bolt upright, and she's just staring at you, mouth twisted to the side in a frown.

“Alright, what the hell was that about?”

You cock an eyebrow at Lily, nauseous from nerves and guilt and hoping that she'll just let it go. She crosses her arms with a huff when she spots your eyes lingering around the exposed curves of her body, draws the sheet further up. Smiling (trying to ignore the sickening pounding of your heart), you ask, “What are you talking about?

Lily rolls her eyes, tucks an errant strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I’m talking about you, John. Last I checked, my name wasn't Dave. But it's pretty clear that's what you said.”

Oh shit.

Yeah, she noticed.

“Look, Lily,” you begin, and she shushes you immediately.

“Is there something here you want to tell me?”

“What? No! Look, I don't know what you think but-” you start, but Lily interrupts you again. Again! Fuck, how are you supposed to have a conversation with her if she doesn't let you talk?

“You don't want to know what I think. How about this? Just fucking. Go back to your room-”

“Lily-”

“-and have fun fucking around with Dave or whatever-”

“Lily, I'm not-”

“And you leave me out of this!”

“Lily! I'm not cheating on you or anything like that!” you finally snap out. “Fuck, I was asleep. That's it.  I was asleep and you woke me up, and can we just ignore it? I'm not interested in Dave.” Not the way you're interested in Lily, anyway, you justify to yourself.  You hold open your arms to her, smiling just a little bit. “Lil, just. Come here, okay? Come here.”

She frowns for a moment, but moves towards you, leaning against your chest anyway. Lily leans into you and apologizes, and all you can think is how much better it felt when you thought she was Dave.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, you really make yourself sick.

* * *

 

“I dunno, dude, maybe I shouldn't give them to you. After all, you've gotten your presents from Rose and Jade already....” and Dave waves his hand with the envelope in it. You clap your hands together making grabbing motions at him so he'll just fucking give you the gift already instead of lording it over you like this!

“Come on, Dave, it's my birthday! Just give me my goddamned present and let's be done with it!”

Eventually, Dave gives in with a faint grin, passing the envelope to you.

You open it eagerly, pull out the card -some terribly hand drawn travesty of Dave's webcomic, lovingly crafted to mutilate no fewer than ten words-, and you open the card to let two slim pieces of paper fall into your palm. You examine them carefully, and you begin smiling.

“Two tickets to an orchestra concert?” You look up at Dave, smile hurting your cheeks. “I didn't know you were that into classical music, Dave. I thought electronica music was more your 'jam.'”

There are times, you think as you lower your hands from their “airquote” positions, that Dave's face is an open book to you despite his shades and poker face. This is not one of those times. Dave's mouth is turned neither up nor down and he is utterly, heartbreakingly still.

“Yeah, well,” he says after a long moment of silence. “I would hate for you to dress up in a suit and not even have someone to doll up with.”

You keep grinning. “These tickets have been sold out for months.”

“Duh. I helped get them there. Concert's tomorrow. Remember to bring your A-game.”

* * *

 

The rest of the day passes in an anxious, anticipatory rush until it’s finally Saturday night, and you get finished putting on your suit (over your bright blue dress shirt and dark pinstriped vest, bought for you by your dad, the suit-nut that he is) in time to walk out into the main room and find Dave…

Well, still dressed in his pajamas, for one.

“Dave!”

His head jerks up, and he spread his hands. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to get ready?”

Dave holds his arms out stiffly in a vague approximation of a shrug before dropping them. “I didn't want to just assume that you'd want me to go with you. If you, you know, still want to go, anyway.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I still want you to come along.” You cock an eyebrow at him. “Nothing's changed.”

Dave snorts. “Really?”

“Yeah! Yeah, obviously. Come on, you have a tux too, right? Do we have enough time to get you dressed up? There’s no way I’m going to a concert with you looking like that.” You poke and prod at him until Dave finally surrenders and gets up, letting you chivy him towards the closet.

“...This coming from the guy who thought a Ghostbusters shirt was totally appropriate for an art party.”

“This is a _classical orchestra concert,_ Dave! You _have_ to look nice. Now get a suit on, I know you own one.”

“Unbelievable,” he says, but he lets you fuss at him regardless and goes when you shove him into the closet to grab a suit.

* * *

 

The concert is great. It's been a while since you've gotten to sit and really _listen_ to classical music, and there's always something more alive about it when you're there in person. The last song of the night comes up, and you shiver in anticipation.

“People always waltz in the aisles for this song, so I encourage it! Go ahead, get up!” the conductor calls, and you instinctively look at Dave. He looks back at you, one eyebrow raised over the rim of his sunglasses, and his mouth is twisted to the side. Dave looks oddly at home in a suit, the dark, straight lines of the fabric complimenting his lean limbs, and your mind can't help but to compare it to the way his jeans and paint spattered clothes also look comfortable on him. The deep red of Dave's vest peeks out when he shifts.

“What are you looking at me for?” Dave asks. “Shouldn't you be watching the orchestra or something? You might miss some really wild head banging.”

You snort, shake your head. “Oh, well, yeah, duh, obviously, I was just. Wondering if you...”

“...If I would...?” Dave asks as the first shimmering strains of the Beautiful Blue Danube begins playing.

“....Get up and try to dance with some girl, I don't know,” you finish weakly.

Dave looks back up at the stage as people, young and old, whirl past you both in swirling, swinging motions. “Dude, I don't even know how to waltz. Besides, picking up random women is definitely more your speed, John.”

On the arm rest next to you, Dave's arm is pressed against yours, elbow to wrist, warm and familiar. You could just reach over and grab his hand. You could tangle your fingers with his. You could hold his hand and feel his skin, familiar and foreign at the same time, and you wonder if it would settle the nervousness sparking inside of you.

You curl your hand into a fist and stare fixedly at the stage and try to convince yourself that you don't want to do any of that.

(But you don’t move your arm. Neither does Dave. Moving neither away nor closer, and the contact still makes your heart pound harder.)

The orchestra plays on.

You go to dinner afterwards, to IHOP where you laugh with Dave and shove your feet against his. He orders something not breakfast food (as usual), and you drink probably too much hot chocolate. And you look across the table, smile at Dave, admire the curve of his smile as he laughs into his drink, his sunglasses braced on his head, freckles captivating flecks on the upsweep of his cheekbones.

Dave catches you looking.

He raises an eyebrow at you, your heard thrums hard in your chest, and you do not look away.

When you and Dave leave, the air is charged between you, oddly intimate and heavy. Dave taps his fingers along the steering wheel of his truck as he drives, his radio buzzing softly under the road noise. You focus on staring through the window, but as the drive continues, you find yourself watching the translucent reflection of Dave instead, the curve of his nose and jaw outlined brightly in the passing streetlights.

He darts a few glances at you himself, if the way his head turns is any indication, but the ride back is otherwise conversation-less. You let out a slow breath.

And so you quietly follow Dave up to your dorm room, watch him as he sheds his black jacket easily, and the span of his shoulders draped in slightly damp white cotton is somehow enticing. It's only when you jerk your eyes upwards that you meet Dave's gaze. He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“What? Stare any more and you'll start being able to see through me or something. Bore a hole straight through my stomach.” Dave snorts. “That'd be a messed up superpower, wouldn't it? Being Cyclops would fucking suck, even without the prospect of Jean Grey being anywhere near your sensitive bits,” he continues as he unbuttons his shirt, turning away from you.

You grab his wrist.

Dave doesn't resist, just falls silent and turns as you pull him, and it's like being pulled by a magnet as you lean up to kiss him. You don't intend for it to go any further, that's what you tell yourself, but Dave sighs with the faintest moan riding along the exhalation, and you find yourself reeling him closer still. Your hips are pressed against his, your arm firm in the curve of his back as your kisses progress from near-chaste close-mouthed presses to wet and deep and needy.

You pull back -or Dave does, you can't tell right now- to run your tongue across your lips, like the moisture that remains there is something remarkable.

Dave meets your eyes, mimics the movement and he's the one who takes a step back.

He's the one who pulls you with him to the bed, who strips both of your clothes off as you two kiss with increasing amounts of teeth and tongue. He groans into the scant space between you as you, heady from kissing and the blood pounding through your veins, grasp his cock.

This time, though, this time, Dave grabs your hand and moves it away, and he rolls over to the desk beside his bed. He riffles through the drawer there for a second before he returns to the bed, and there's a small _click_ sound. You watch Dave hunch over, spreading lube over his fingers and moving them back, back. You stare for a long moment before you collect yourself enough to ask, “Dave, what are you doing?” in a breathless voice.

“You want to fuck someone, right? This can be a, fuck, a practice run, happy birthday, I'm popping your cherry,” Dave gasps, and you see his legs tremble as he slides one, two fingers into himself. A shock of warmth rushes over you. Gently, you stroke the soft skin of his thighs in a soothing motion.

The words “But I've already...” die in your throat, and you find yourself leaning closer to watch instead. Dave turns his face up to yours, pressing focused kisses to your jaw, neck, anything close enough to touch. Slowly, you move him back against the mattress, his legs hitched up around your hips as his hand moves between the two of you, and you smooth your hand down his side in long, soothing strokes.

“Hey, Dave,” you murmur, because anything else would be too loud. He cracks an eye open, and you continue once you have his attention. “Can I? Let me...” You trace your finger down the insides of his thighs, watching the shivers travel up and down his body intently.

Dave shudders, and you see his free hand clench, unclench, flex uncertainly, half-reach towards you before fisting in the covers. Jerkily, he nods, and his eyes are shut, face turned away, and you lean over him to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his collarbones as you lean over to get a glove, apply lube, and replace his fingers with yours.

You’re lost in stretching him for the longest time. He quivers so wonderfully as you thrust your fingers in, out, in, spread, and he full-out shakes and moans and you can’t believe how warm he is. It's so. Mind-blowing. The picture he makes, legs spread, hand scrabbling at your shoulder, cock hard, flushed, and leaking against the skin of his stomach and you lean forward to run the flat of your tongue against his stomach.

Dave jerks at the contact, letting out a trembling moan. Arousal floods you.

Fuck.

Fuck, he's hot.

And it's this thought that draws your attention to Dave's erection.

Blood rushes to your head and, emboldened, you lower your mouth down to his dick. Carefully, you run your tongue against it, tasting skin and salt and the tang of precome. Dave makes a strangled noise above you, his hand tangling hard in your hair as you carefully take the head of his dick into your mouth, curiously flicking your tongue against it. As you do, you move your fingers inside of him again.

Dave swears this time. You can feel his thighs flexing as he rocks into all points of contact that he can, and you inhale unsteadily, pulling off of his cock to swallow roughly. Dave looks down at you, eyes wide and dark. “John.”

“Yeah?” But you stall his question by lacking your tongue up the shaft of his cock, by flexing your fingers inside of Dave, until he finally pulls you bodily up and stops you. 

“Just. Fuck, just go ahead already,” he gasps, and god, his flush spreads all the way down his body and you know he’s enjoying this. You know those noises that he makes, and you nod silently, moving up his body again.

Dave grabs your hand. You come to a stop over him, braced on one forearm. Licking his lips, Dave spreads his fingers, threads them through yours, and you squeeze his hand gently.

“...Go slow?” he says quietly, and you quirk a smile at him.

“Will do.” Carefully, you hold his legs open, roll on a condom, and press in, inch by inch. Dave shakes the entire time. His body is held taught, a veritable coil of tension.

“Am I hurting you?” you ask, concerned. Dave shakes his head and grits his teeth, and now he doesn’t look at you, head turned tightly to the side; he doesn’t look at you and his chest is heaving for breath.

“No, just. Look, it always hurts at first, right? Don’t stop, okay? I'll tell you if it hurts too much.”

You’re not blind either, but he told you to keep going, so you do, slowly and slowly until you're fully inside him. Shaking, you hold yourself there, still, and you squeeze Dave's hand again. He opens his eyes, gasping in large, open-mouthed breaths, and it takes a moment, but he squeezes back. You lower your head, resting it against his forehead, your breath mixing together. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed tone.

“Yeah,” Dave gasps. “yeah, I'm good.”

Even so, like this, you can feel the shuddering quivers of his body now that you're fully inside him. You feel it around you, against your stomach and thighs, and it's... incredible. You're not a stranger to fucking someone, you've stayed over at Lily's too much for that to be the case, but you shake the thought of her from your mind. Lily isn't someone you want to bother thinking about right now.

Not when you have Dave like this.

Instead, you thrust into him, slowly at first and speeding up soon afterward, rolling your hips in deep motions. Dave's breathing is loud in your ear, each exhale carrying a faint groan, until he turns his face towards your neck. You tuck your forehead against his shoulder, his fingers sweat-slick between yours.

For the first time, you don't pull away when Dave bites your neck to muffle the sound of him moaning. You just want more and more, and you shift yourself, rocking back on your heels and shifting your weight.

And you look down.

Dave is flushed in patches, a red swath under his freckles, and he rocks with every push. One knee is hiked up into the crook of your elbow, spreading him wide open. His eyes, red and half-closed with pleasure, find yours, and your breath stops, your movements coming to a halt.

Your heart thuds in your chest, warmth and fear merging in an uncomfortable mixture as goosebumps race down your skin.

He looks beautiful. You never want to do anything like this with anyone else. You want Dave and his dorky, stupid smile and his photograph mobiles and his dry wit. You want him.

 _I'm in love with him,_  you realize blankly. Your chest feels hollowed out in the wake of this revelation. _He loves me, and I think I love him too._

Fuck.

_Fuck._

“John?” Dave asks. You realize that you've been still for too long. His thumb rubs the outer curve of your forefinger, and the contact is suddenly too much. You pull your hand out of his, plant it firmly on the bed beside his shoulder, and you pretend that you don't see his bewildered look. You can't muster up anything to give him, your mind completely blank. But you're still inside him, and you should finish what you started. “Hey, John,” he murmurs, more urgently this time. “Hey, you okay?”

Wordlessly, you roll your hips, picking back up the pace until you're fucking Dave hard and fast.

Your head is numb.

You can't get away from Dave because you've never actually wanted to leave him.

(You don't feel like you can breathe, but your eyes burn, so you lower your head to almost touch the curve of Dave's shoulder.)

Dave's breath is hitching in your ear, his hands scrabble for purchase on your back, shoulders, forearms, as you fuck him, and his fingers vainly attempt to thread between yours before he gives up and arches hard into your thrusts, stroking himself off roughly.

You just press in, and in, and in, and let go.

* * *

 

John falls asleep.

You watch him as he goes, limp and content from orgasm, breathing turning regular and all-encompassing and deep, and then you sit back. Tap your hands against your thigh, anxious.

Then you slide out of bed with him, pull on the most cursory of clothing and limp outside to smoke because this is bullshit.

This is such _bullshit._

You wish you could come up with a better descriptor than that but you’re at a loss, your mind circling and coming back to the same thing over and over again.

You had him.

You had him, and then you didn’t and he wouldn’t let you get him back.

The cold air outside, ripe with spring and the fading hints of winter hits you full force as you leave the dorm building, and you inhale it gratefully, the shock of it on your arousal-heated skin welcome. You fumble only briefly with getting a cigarette and fishing your lighter out of your pocket, and you light the cig with a few economical movements, greedily sucking in the first gulp of smoke and nicotine.

The world spins slowly on as you breathe in and out, and you are a storm within your skin, too hot and too cold and too far away for anything you're feeling to connect over into anything real. You have the marks on your skin and the deep ache of your muscles, but none of it seems solid enough. None of it screams what you just did with John to the world the way you want it to. You want to carve it onto your skin, so John can't retreat from it again.

You hold out your hand to the nearby streetlight and spread your fingers.

(God, he wouldn't even let you thread your fingers through his during that. He was inside you and the furthest from you that he's ever been.)

You can really clearly see the stark bones of your knuckles and wrist and you wonder if you always seemed this fragile or if that's a new development.

For an untold number of minutes, you stay out there and smoke aggressively against the brick wall near the dorm, alone except for the few lights still visible in a few people's rooms along the building. It's long enough that you are getting seriously cold in just your pajama pants and shirt, but you stay outside for a few minutes more, finishing off another cigarette stubbornly before you snub it out and walk back inside.

You make your way upstairs, and you open your door quietly, tiptoeing back in. The room is startlingly dark in comparison to the lit hallway, and you stand inside the door, unmoving, to let your eyes get used to the lack of light. Slowly, John’s bed comes into focus, the lump of blankets that comprises John still moving minutely with his breaths. You watch him, selfishly, petulantly wanting him to be bothered by the reek of cigarette smoke that clings to you like a constant fog these days, but he seems to not notice it at all. You want him to wake up and look at you and really, for once, see what this is beginning to do to you.

What his neglect is doing.

How his _regard_ for you is slowly tearing you apart, like deep set claws in softened skin.

You thought he had noticed today, with how closely he was watching you and how close to perfect it all was. But then, he had retreated from you. You sit down on your bed like your strings have been cut loose, and you slowly lower your head to your hands and wonder when having sex started to make you bitter.

When did John start making you feel like this?

You don't know what's happening anymore. And the only way to figure it out is to sit John down and talk to him.

You almost don't want to. But he had initiated almost everything sexual that happened tonight, and that has to mean something, doesn't it? Even if he had stopped halfway through and looked like someone had gutted him, blue eyes frantically searching yours in the dark, and you reach out now to carefully run your finger along the curving lines of his tattoo at the knob of his neck. Carefully, gingerly, your body throbbing in new and different ways than ever before, you pull yourself under the covers, warm and isolated, and small. You close your eyes to let the night pass slowly from then on, thoughts restless.

Sleep must come over you eventually, since you wake up to John's alarm going off.

You push yourself up, groggy. John is already pulling on his shirt and grabbing a backpack as he hurries out of the room, and for a half-second, you consider getting out of bed to follow him.

That changes when you get your feet on the ground.

Pain lances up your body, and you take a few deep breaths, straightening out with slow, pained movements. Yeah, no, hobbling after John sounds like the antithesis of fun. You grit your teeth and make your slow way over to the shower. If you're going to stay here, you're at least going to relax while you do it.

* * *

 

Hours pass.

This doesn’t seem strange until you notice that it’s dark outside and John hasn’t come back for lunch, much less for dinner.

“What the hell?” you mutter. It's Sunday, so John doesn't have classes today, and he didn't mention anything to you about needing to be somewhere today. You need to talk about what happened last night between the two of you, because you're not about to let your first time with penetration be something that gets breezed over like this.

But John doesn't come back and doesn't come back, and all the while, you work yourself up and back down, riding the uncertainty and insecurity paired with the still-present ache of your muscles.

Why isn’t he back?

 _Because he fucked you last night,_ a traitorous voice tells you. _He fucked you and got what he wanted, and now he’s done._

And when it hits eleven and you haven't seen John all day, you let that voice win.

You bite the inside of your lip until you taste copper, letting the back of your head rest on the wall beside your door, and you wonder what the hell you're going to do now, because you're sure as shit not going to keep waiting in your room alone. So carefully, you make your way to Rose and Jade's room, lift one hand to knock wearily on their door.

Rose answers, a faint smile on her lips. “Why hello there, Dave. What can I do for you?”

“...Can I just come in and talk?” you ask, and there must be something in your voice that alerts Rose, because her expression becomes more serious and focused, and she draws you inside without a second thought. You let her lead you (in small, pained, limping steps) to the couch, where Jade is watching a musical on the television. Jade pulls her feet up and burrows her head under your arm.

Rose strokes your hair, fussing over the strands. “Alright, Dave, what would you like to talk about?”

“Yeah, what's eating you, tough guy?” Jade pipes up, and she's grinning, crooked and uneven, the way John smiles, and fuck, _fuck,_ that's what pushes you over. You curl up on yourself, your knees to your chest, Jade's arm between your hands, Rose's hand in your hair. That's when it all comes out. You are wrapped up like a Gordian knot of appendages, and it's in the small spaces between your limbs that you explain, in halting words, everything that's happened between you and John.

Everything.

From terrible, awkward friends-with-benefits start to uncertain and confusing end.

They are quiet.

“Dave...”

You shrug, noncommittal and bitter.

“Dave, have you considered just breaking it off with him?” _Because that's worked so well in the past,_ you think. “I don’t understand why you haven’t just told him to stop and leave you alone,” Rose says, irritation curling around the timbre of her words.

You look at her. Shrug. “Because it’s not my fault he keeps not talking about it? I'm trying, alright. I want to talk about this. John’s the one being a douchenugget, right? So all of the problem-fixing shouldn't be falling on me. Whatever it is that he’s working through, he needs to come back so I can have some input on it now, right? C’mon, Harley, back me up here.”

Jade frowns uncomfortably at this. “I’m with Rose on this one, Dave. John's being an asshole, but if you stood your ground, I'm sure you could fix a lot of this if you actually tried-”

“If you’re gonna suggest talking to him, I’m stopping you there,” you interrupt, your voice cold. “I’ve tried that. I’ve tried to talk about this a lot, and he’s the one who’s running away, so I’m not exactly holding my breath for a magical change of heart. Look. I’m not the one who changed, okay? He’s the one who decided we weren’t okay anymore. He’s the one who went out and started fucking girls.” _And me_ , you don't add, but the look on Jade's face says she got the message anyway.

“So what happened? If you guys were okay before...”

You’re silent.

Rose figures it out first, of fucking course. “We found out.”

“Yeah. You guys found out, and then all of this shit started happening because he decided that what we had wasn’t good enough.” You let out a shuddering breath. “I just don't fucking know what to do, okay? I don't need advice, I need a fucking miracle.”

Jade silently leans against you, and while you don't lean back, you soak in the contact, and it only takes a moment before Rose wraps her arms around your shoulders too. The musical plays on in the background, and you close your eyes to focus on it instead of the slow slide of tears falling from your eyes.

On the screen, Bernadette Peters sings “ _Princes wait there in the woods, it’s true. Princes yes, but wolves and humans too_ ,” and you think to yourself, bitterly, _Don’t I know it._

* * *

 

The rest of the two weeks until finals pass in an uneasy sort of truce that lasts mostly because you don’t see John very much at all, and nine times out of ten, when Karkat sees your face in the morning, he immediately frowns and pushes a caramel macciatto towards you. This is somehow infinitely hilarious to you, mostly because you've heard his tirades on “soulless sell-out overpriced bullshit that tries to pass for something fit for people to drink” more times than you can count.

It's his way of showing he cares. You appreciate it, you really do.

John is...

Almost never there, actually. He shows up, smiles, hangs out with you, Rose, and Jade, sends you unreadable glances from across the room, and leaves you to sleep alone as he spends more and more time with his girlfriend. You've only met her a few times, and she seemed nice enough. You hope, in a vindictive sort of way, that she can somehow sense that you were there, that yours was the first touch that John ever knew and the one he still came back to, though that seems like less and less of an accomplishment.

(Oddly enough, the week of finals, John stops sleeping in whatever-her-name-is' room.

You'll never tell him, but you're glad. You're glad for the chance to hear him sleep across the room from you, for the chance to see him again, messy haired and uncoordinated in the morning, even if every bit of it is a sharp pain twisting into your chest. Even if you never can quite bring the words you need to the forefront, because he still slips away from you.)

* * *

 

“It's weird, huh?” John asks you out of the blue, as you load the last of Rose and Jade's bags into the back of Rose's van. You push your bangs out of the way, cock your head at him, don’t think about how this is one of only a handful of times he’s tried to talk to you since, well.

“Dude, what are you even talking about?” you ask just to keep him talking, just to hear him and engage him again.

He hums under his breath. “Not having to pack. We don't have to leave with the girls tomorrow, and I won't see my dad until Christmas.”

You shrug. Part of you was worried that he wouldn't stick around this summer like you two had promised earlier in the year, before things got strange between you. But John hasn't tried to pack, hasn't tried to back out of it at all.

You wish you could say it was reassuring.

(It's not.)

You're sure he means it well; after all, John rarely does things out of spite.

(It only serves to make you more uneasy.)

As it is, John disappears the next day. Jade texts you from the airport to let you know when her flights get through safely, and you figure she's texting John too. So you kick back in the dorm room and relax for the scant time you have before your summer job starts in a week. Time passes slowly, and the light in the room goes from pale to bright to golden, with no sign of John.

You start getting worried. Surely, he's not going to leave you alone here again? The girls aren't here now to act as a buffer between the two of you, and you had been sort of hoping that maybe, just maybe, you could finally talk about what happened after his birthday.

The door opens.

“John!”

And he's there, standing in the doorway on unsteady feet, and you don't know whether to be relieved or angry or upset or anything as he smiles at you. “Hiya, Dave!”

You move towards him, grasping his shoulder. “Dude, where the fresh fuck have you been? You've been gone all day!” _I was worried_ , you think, searching his face for any remorse, anything at all, and when you inhale, all you smell is alcohol.

Shit.

He's been out drinking.

“I was visiting some bars.”

You snort. “Yeah, I can smell that. Why the hell didn't you answer any of my texts? Or calls?” John's face scrunches up, and you roll your eyes. Jesus, talking to him like this is a nightmare, isn't it. Fuck, he always ruins your plans like this. You shake your head, knowing it's going to be impossible to try to get anything through to John now. “Never mind.”

“I like bars,” John tells you like it's some kind of secret, looping his fingers into your belt loops with the sort of focus most people reserve for life or death situations.

“Yes, John, I can tell.”

John smiles at you again, or it would be again if he had ever _stopped_ smiling in the first place, and you batten down your anger. You can get mad at him when he's hungover and miserable, because that's just going to make all of the yelling about worrying you so much worse. For now, though... “C'mere, man, let's go-”

“Mmm, yeah, bed. Bed is good,” John slurs out. Only when he goes, he brings you down with him, in a move that doesn't surprise you anymore, and you don't resist as he shifts around to spread you out beneath him. You're tense. John is laying, his head resting on your chest, his breath whistling slightly through his open mouth before he pushes himself up onto his arms, staggering and uncoordinated, then continues the motion upwards to loop one arm around your shoulders.

“Relaaaax,” John says, patting your face drunkenly. This would be kind of hilarious if you weren't still really fucking upset at him. “Let me hold you okay?”

You huff out a breath, roll your eyes, because what is he even getting at? “Dude, you’re laying on me. Technically, I’m holding you.”

“Se-. Semana-. Seh-man-tits.” John laughs, goes quiet for a second, drops a casual kiss on your neck, and your breath stutters out. “Man-tits. Dave, you’re really hot, have I told you that?”

Your mouth tightens into a thin line. Sighing, John drops his arms from around your shoulders. “Dave,” he drawls, elongating your name as he does. You don’t answer and he sighs, turning his face away from you as he gets distracted by something on your pants.

Which he then decides to grab, resulting in John rubbing your cock through your jeans.

Breath hisses out between your teeth. “Dude, knock it off.”

He blinks up at you owlishly. “But I thought you liked this sort of thing.”

“You have a girlfriend, don't you? Just...” You sigh roughly. You don’t say, _you walked out on me last time we did this and I've barely seen you since_. “If you don't like me, then don't keep... doing things like this.”

John sits up, and you notice, suddenly, that his eyes are very clear and lucid for someone who's been drinking. He focuses on you with a frightening amount of intensity. “I love you.”

The world stops.

“Dave, I love you.”

You shake your head, because no, no, not now, he's drunk and doesn't know what he's saying, he's drunk and he can't love you, he's dating someone else, and John's hand cups your chin and tilts your face up as he kisses you.

And you, well.

You fist your hand in his shirt and open to the kiss almost fiercely, and he kisses you so easily, so sweetly that you get dizzy from it. You can taste the bitter curl of alcohol in his mouth, sparing a moment to wonder if you could get contact drunk or if that's just your head spinning on its own, anger and elation twisting until they’re inseparable. John groans, quiet and low, and he lets you push his shirt up as he latches onto your neck with his mouth, his body quivering as you trace your fingertips along the sensitive hollows of his hips and stomach.

Oh god, you should not be doing this.

“Dave, please,” John gasps.

But you've never really been able to tell him no.

You move further and further down, unbuttoning his pants and sliding your hand in to stroke him, still soft but gaining hardness. John grasps at you, turns your face towards his so he can kiss you on the mouth before returning to suck on your neck, which makes your hand clench around him just a bit. “Fuck, Dave, that's... fuck, yeah,” he groans, spreading his legs. “More.”

“Mouthy,” you say, because you can't think of anything else to say to him. “If I had known getting you drunk would make you talkative, shit, I'd probably...” You just trail off, shake your head and pump his cock as John shivers and thrusts into your hand.

You absolutely should not be doing this, and yet you can’t help but pull him closer. There is no way you’re going to wake up in the morning and not feel guilty about how you’re basically taking advantage of him. You're mad at him, though that's fading fast. You need to talk about things without sex getting in the way between the two of you again. But John…

God, John’s acting like he wants you, like he never wants you anywhere except in his arms, over him, around him. He hasn’t moved his mouth from your neck for the past, fuck, you don’t know how long anymore, just… a while. A long while. And the noises, the little gasps that he’s making in your ear. You could listen to him forever.

Except.

“Dave, oh god, fuck, love you, I love you so much, don't sto - ah!”

And you close your eyes and tuck your head into his shoulder, your hand never once slowing down. Words clog up your throat, crowding under your tongue and teeth. You want to say so many things. Tell him that no he doesn’t love you, you know better by now; that he can’t love you, because if he did, then why is he using you and hurting you so badly, why did he leave; that he’s lying to himself and to you and he can’t, he just can’t.

That he can’t love you because there is nothing here to love.

You swallow back the words and keep on going because there is no stopping now. You don't know which way is the correct way out of this anymore.

Which is, you think, why you keep doing this. You smooth your other hand down his stomach, watching his muscles twitch and watching John arch into it, and that’s really fucking hot in the sort of way that ends up with you feeling a curious mix of arousal and self-loathing. He’s almost never this open with his responses, and you hate the fact that it took him getting drunk for you to see it.

You slide down his body, keeping your touch feather-light, the kind of tease that John loves the most. Slowly, tortuously slow, you take his cock into your mouth, sucking and licking and he tastes good and you just want to make him feel amazing. You want to knock out any thoughts he has, any reservations he has. You want him to stay.

God, you love him.

You have no idea why, though, and it’s that thought that makes your breath come short with guilt and hatred, that makes nausea pool in the pit of your stomach and you wish you knew what you were going to do.

John comes with a quiet exhalation, loving, adoring, of your name. You swallow, wipe your mouth, watch as he smiles faintly up at you and rolls over to face away from you, and the cold hit of indifference sucker punches you in the gut. Shakily, you take yourself in hand and finish yourself off, but in all honesty, you're not even that into it, your orgasm a hollow, lonely thing.

You wish you could get him to talk to you or push past the sickening drop in your stomach, but you're coming to the conclusion that neither option leaves you comfortable, much less happy. Instead, you pick yourself up, clean yourself off. When you turn back to the bed, John is out like a light, spread across the mattress.

This is what you wanted.

Even if this isn’t what you wanted, it’s what you’ve got, and until you talk to John about this, all of it, there’s not much you can do aside from climbing into your own bed.

You keep reminding yourself of that, very firmly, very determinedly, holding it in the forefront of your mind until you feel less dizzy and alone as you pull the chilly comforter over your shoulders and shiver into the unwarmed bedspread. Breathe in, out. Afterglow still twitches through you in soft intervals, and you close your eyes to draw the pleasurable ache closer, but…

You shake your head and press your face into the pillow

Slowly, you let your eyes close, let your body rest, give yourself over to sleep. You wake up from an uneasy slumber with the dawn and watch the slow spread of gilded light as it splays over buildings and landscapes, across the hills and the room, over John’s sleeping figure. His face is delicately shadowed, his lashes and hair dark sweeps against his tan skin. It makes him look approachable and soft in a way he never is while awake, something closer to the person you fell in love with so many years ago when his callousness was somehow endearing.

Your heart twists in your chest, making your breath come short, and you close your eyes.

You’ve watched him sleep more times than you can count, and never once have you felt quite so distant.

Pushing down the hollow feeling below your sternum, you crawl into bed with him to bridge that gap. John murmurs in his sleep, rolls over on his side for you easily, and you press your nose up against the dark lines of his tattoo, breathing in the deep, heavy scent that lingers against John's skin.

(Whatever kind of victory that is feels hollow.)

* * *

 

When you wake up the next morning, John isn’t next to you. This part of the move is familiar, and you expected it with a fruitless sort of frustration, but when you get up to find him, something seems strange. It takes a moment for you to realize, but. Your heart pounds hard and heavy in your throat. John’s clothes are mostly gone, his suitcases are missing from their place at the top of the closet, and as you tear through the room, you can only find small traces of him left behind.

John left.

John has packed his things, and he isn’t anywhere to be found, and you stand in the middle of the room that you and John shared, feeling cast adrift and uncertain and so, so alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention this (for like an ENTIRE YEAR, GG ZENE), but the musical the girls and Dave end up watching is the stage version of "Into the Woods," which is one of my favorite musicals of all time. The song specifically quoted there is "Stay with Me," though if you look up the stage version of it, watch out. The song opens with a scream, so. Yeah. Don't have your volume too far up at the start ;;
> 
> Artwork for this chapter: 
> 
> Work done by Zipra:  
> [Art for the original Drunken!John Prompt](http://zipra.tumblr.com/post/30765485379/oh-god-you-should-not-be-doing-this-you) that showed up in this chapter
> 
> Work done by Wolfie:  
> [The First Morning](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100537828007/chuchacz-im-straight-not-not-any-of-this-i)  
> [Dave and John the morning after Lily](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100786049292/chuchacz-after-a-long-moment-where-youre)  
> [John's Problem](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/100451587882/chuchacz-thats-the-problem-youve-tried-to)  
> [A kiss](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/99606846287/chuchacz-dave-doesnt-resist-just-falls-silent)  
> [John's Revelation Scene](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/101687784108/chuchacz-your-heart-thuds-in-your-chest-warmth)  
> [Dave's conversation with the Girls](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/post/101506190423/chuchacz-you-curl-up-on-yourself-your-knees-to)  
> 


	6. The Odds All Stand Beneath Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody ever mentions how fucking _terrifying_ falling in love with your best friend is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the completely unintended break there. This chapter had actually been finished for a while, but my beta had been having a rough time of a lot of stuff, and we both decided that she needed to take care of herself before even thinking about any of... *waves hand* this. 
> 
> But, hey, despite that, here we are! With a new chapter and everything! And the next chapter is only 5k from being complete, so it hopefully won't take as much time. So. Have fun reading!
> 
> For those of you who like playlists (me), I put up a [playlist of all of the songs that had previously just been on the Spotify playlist](http://8tracks.com/zenelly/i-have-learned-to-love-the-lie), that way everyone can hear them.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Disparate Youth by Santigold

[MESSAGES SENT: MAY 7]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 21:41 - -

TG: hey john where the fuck are you  
TG: you ditched the city faster than a blue hedgehog accused of theft of a mystical artifact by another hedgehog  
TG: who just by the way doesnt actually look anything like him  
TG: but the writers needed a plot hook and i  guess people are hedgehog-racist and think they all look alike  
TG: and then he has to fight the ensuing military and ends up having to fight his notdoppelganger in space after a giant deus ex machina while all the while something about genocidal old men and flying in space to fight a giant lizard and all of this because rolling around at the speed of sound something something follow me set me free trust me and we will escape from the city  
TG: …  
TG: that got a bit messy  
TG: i dont even know if you know that much about sonic  
TG: whatever  
TG: point is  
TG: john come on  
TG: answer your fucking phone jesus christ  
TG: im worried  
TG: and whatever it was that i said im sorry  
TG: or did i guess  
TG: i dont think i did or said anything though so  
TG: come on dude its been three days  
TG: just let me know that youre alright  
TG: please

* * *

“Jade!”

You lift your head up at the sound of your name, catching the eye of one of your advisors as he makes his way to you. He huffs out a short breath next to your desk, wipes his ruddy face with the back of his forearm before he passes over a few sheets of paper. “I need you to review this,” he tells you. “It’s good work, but pay attention to the changes I marked down.” He looks down at his watch, shaking it to get it in better position. “And go home. It’s Friday! Don’t stay too late here tonight.”

You salute jauntily, grinning wide as your hair sways in a long, thick ponytail behind you. “Alrighty. I’ll head home now since you insist, Doctor Rossi.”

He laughs, a rusty drag of sound, before he waves you off, and you smile and gather your bag to you, check to make sure you have everything, and head out of the building to face the blast of sun and heat that pummel you immediately outside. The wind kicks up, and you close your eyes to it, breathe it in as you make your careful way to the apartment that you’re staying in. You wave at familiar faces as you pass them.

The city is busy around you, the hustle and bustle of it not dimmed in the heat at all. You hear the background growl of cars and people as you walk along the city’s sidewalks. You enjoy it here, you really do.

“Signorina!” the woman who runs the nearby grocery store calls out, and you stop a moment to talk, casual and friendly, and grab some ingredients for your dinner while you’re there. Nothing too complicated, just some garlic and chicken. She’s checking up on you because you remind her of her daughter, and her grandson is older and has moved away from the family; it’s no trouble for you to chat about your work for a few minutes.

You make it home easily, with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, grocery bag hanging off your other forearm. From there, it's a pretty simple matter to make dinner, though you eat it with your books open on your lap, because physics doesn't rest for anything.

So it's with a full belly that you go to the small enclosed balcony outside of your apartment. The clouds are streaked red and gold as the sun goes down. You lift your face to the wind, breathe in, and in, and in, smelling the salt-rich air mixed over the fading heat of the sun on stone, and when you let it out, you look down at the city below your balcony.

Fuck, Genoa is awesome.

Sure, being away from Dave, John, and Rose is rough and you miss them a lot, but at the same time, you’re in _Italy_. And you’re having the time of your life with the exchange program, even if your accent in Italian is resoundingly awful and you can’t understand some of the words that come out of people’s mouths. But despite all of that, it’s been good here. You needed to establish your independence, needed to see if you could stand on your own, alone in an unfamiliar country.

You think you’re thriving, honestly.

You reach up, your shirt riding high over your stomach as you stretch out. Slowly, you lay down on the cooling concrete and wait until the sky is dark, the city turned to bobbing lights below you, and you are happy above all things.

* * *

 

Your phone going off wakes you, and you squint at the fuzzy lines of the display blearily before you cast around blindly for your glasses. Why the fuck is someone calling you at fuck o’clock in the morning? Whoever it is had better be ready to get their ass kicked. Carefully, you push your glasses into place, look at your phone again.

_Incoming Call: Dave_

You cock an eyebrow, a faint smile curling the corners of your mouth. Nah, okay, depending on why he’s calling you, maybe Dave can be spared your wrath. You tap the screen to answer him. Raspily, you say, “Heya, Dave. What’s up?”

“Jade,” Dave says, and your heart immediately stutters. He sounds… heavy. The weight of the world is there in his voice, harsh and hopeless. You sit up, letting the blanket fall off your shoulders. “Sorry to call you, but do you…” There’s a quiet sigh as he trails off, and when Dave starts back up again, you know it’s not the original question he meant to ask. “How are you, Jade?”

You sigh quietly, deliberately not letting the air get into the phone’s mic. “You do realize that it’s shit-all o’clock right? Did you forget that I’m seven hours ahead of you?”

There’s a guilty silence.

Then Dave swears, quiet and heartfelt, and you hear the sheepishness in his voice. “Shit, sorry, Jade, I didn’t mean to-”

“Ehh, it’s whatever, Dave. I’m doing fine, aside from being woken up, thanks for asking. How are you, and, more importantly, what in the world made you want to call at-” you squint at your bedside clock, calculating what time it is at the college right now, “-nine P.M. on a Friday? Shouldn’t you be too busy living it up to call me?”

Dave is silent for a long time, his breath hitching as he almost starts half a dozen sentences, discarding them all before he can even vocalize anything. And then, in slow, halting words, he says, “Remember how I told you and Rose about the thing I had going on with John?”

“The one you flatly refused advice on?” you ask in lieu of an actual answer before your brain catches on to the past tense he used, and then your heartbeat doubletimes, pounding sick and heavy with worry in your throat. It’s a struggle to keep your words even when you say, “What about it? What did my idiot cousin do this time?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. The last time I heard from him was two weeks ago.”

You can’t breathe for a moment. That’s impossible. John is staying at the college too, isn’t he? You had called Uncle a few days ago, and he hadn’t seemed upset or anything. He would have been if John hadn’t talked to him at all. John’s probably not missing then. But your uncle had said that John was fine, just fine, had just started working on his summer job, and you had blithely assumed that John had only called to let him know what was going on, same as you.

“...Jade?”

“What the hell happened?” you ask quietly, not angry. Just confused. You rub the soft skin below your eyes with gentle fingers.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, he just. Ran off or something, and I’ve been looking for him, but he doesn’t answer his cell phone, I haven’t seen him online at all, and I’ll be fucking honest, I’ve been panicking for the last couple of weeks.” Dave’s words get faster and faster, tripping and tumbling over themselves as he shakes them out. Listening, you drag your fingers through the heavy waves of your hair and pluck at any knots you encounter. “I just want to know if he’s okay. And where he is.”

Okay, that at least you can help with. “I talked to my Uncle the other day, Dave, and he said that John was fine. So he’s alive, at the very least. If he’s anywhere not with you, he’s back in Seattle. I don’t know why, but he’s probably at home. I can’t imagine why he’d run away, though. He was looking forward to the summer with you.”

Dave is guiltily silent.

“Dave?”

There’s a wet rattle of static from the phone. “After you guys left, John went out drinking, and like, he got himself fucking wasted, right? And I didn’t really want to argue with him about the shit he’d been pulling, because first-time drunk, what’s the point in arguing? He’s not gonna remember anything, so if I made headway, whoops, there it goes down the drain with all of the booze when he detoxes and worships the porcelain god. But then he kissed me, and. We… fucked. While he was drunk.”

Your eyes narrow. That can’t be all of it. Slowly, you ask, “...And?”

You hear the rasp of Dave breathing, in and out, in and out, the click of him swallowing. “He said he loved me,” Dave whispers, small and achingly confused. “And when I woke up, he was gone. And I don’t know what else to think about it, because there’s really only a few reasons someone runs away after saying that, and I don’t like any of them.”

You exhale heavily through your nose. Shaking your head even though Dave can’t see it, you press the heel of your free hand into one of your eyes. “What the _fuck_ ,” you say feelingly, and Dave makes an echoed noise of agreement.

For a long, long moment, you let the silence go between you. Your mind is racing for something, anything to say, but you’re coming up pretty dry.

Luckily, Dave covers for you. “I’ve tried to talk to him, but he hasn’t been online since he’s left, and no one answers any of my calls. Not even his dad, so he must have said something. Jade, I don’t. I don’t know what to do about any of this and I’m going a little crazy over here.”

“I don’t know what to say… Is there anyone there that you can hang out with?”

Dave lets out a quiet sound. “I don’t know, Jade. I wasn’t really paying attention to shit like that because I thought John and I were gonna be, you know. Living the high life for the whole summer, doing stupid, regrettable stuff because it’s our last summer to be as nuts and irresponsible as we want to be, and instead John hightailed his ass back to kingdom come and I’m alone.”

You hum. If you remember correctly... “I think Karkat lives in town, though. You two get along great! Maybe he can at least give you some company.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dave says. “Alright, I’m gonna stop bothering you now. Sorry about waking you up, Jade. Thanks.”

You don’t want him to hang up.

You don’t want him to go back to thinking himself in circles again like he will inevitably do, but you can’t think of anything else to say, so you murmur “goodnight” before you hear the click in your ear. Slowly, you lower your phone to your lap, pull your blanket up around you again. Eyes gritty and heart pounding, you try to calm down, but the feeling of worry just won't leave you alone.

You’re not getting back to sleep like this.

With a sigh, you gather yourself up and walk out to the kitchen, where your mind spins idly on as you wait for a mug of tea to brew. You don't know what to do. You could call John, try to get him to talk about what happened, but you know your cousin. He'd rather avoid the conversation entirely. You could try to comfort Dave, but you don't know what to say. You don't think John is the sort of person who would walk out and disappear like he apparently has without having some kind of reason to do it.

You just don't know.

Grabbing your mug, you make your way out to the balcony again.

The breeze coming off of the sea is cool now, sticky with salt and smelling heavily of dawn and pre-light softness. You settle yourself onto the concrete again, pressed up against the metal railings of your balcony.

You’re worried about them.

Of course you’re worried about them, you’re not heartless. Just distracted and in Italy, and as much as you’d like to help, you are at least a seven-hour time difference away from either of them. There’s not much you can do right now for anyone, regardless of your willingness to help John and Dave work off their respective weirdnesses. You swing your feet into the cool morning air. With your face smushed against your hands, you let out a disconsolate sigh.

You’re just too far away, no matter how much the gap is closed by phone calls and the internet. Neither of those work if the people in question (John especially) keep avoiding them. Your method of interrogation involves a lot of bodily contact or sitting on people until they give you what you want, and that doesn’t translate to long-distance therapy sessions very well.

But as much as you want to be there for them and help, you’re also not their keeper.

It’s not your responsibility to get their heads out of their asses.

Quietly, you let your heart ache for them, You’ll do what you can, lending a long distance shoulder to Dave and trying to bully John - assuming you can even get him to talk to you at all, which, knowing your cousin, isn’t really within the realms of possibility.

But in the meantime, you’ll wait. Maybe they’ll even figure it out themselves, which would be, admittedly, a fucking miracle, because John and Dave are both awful about talking apparently.

You breathe in, and make yourself smile.

You’re in _Italy._

It’s time to focus on how cool that is.

(It's a small, small consolation for the hollow feeling nesting under your breastbone, and you curl in over yourself and worry until dawn.)

* * *

 

[MESSAGES SENT: MAY 19]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 09:51 - -

TG: john  
TG: okay still not answering anything i see  
TG: thats cool  
TG: i heard from jade that youre probably kicking it with your dad which is neat  
TG: wouldve been nice if you had said something but  
TG: you know  
TG: whatever water under the bridge amirite  
TG: im just still a bit worried  
TG: i hope youre alright dude  
TG: and you know you can talk to me about whatever right because you totally can  
TG: you can just lay it all on me  
TG: so if i did something john  
TG: just  
TG: fucking say something  
TG: thatd be rad  
TG: or not rad i guess but i wanna talk about everything that happened and like what we can do from here before it gets too bad  
TG: before it gets worse really  
TG: if thats cool with you that is  
TG: and more silence yeah thats cool  
TG: just  
TG: message me back whenever you think about it i guess  
TG: offer to talks gonna be open until you wanna talk  
TG: ttyl dude  
TG: hopefully

* * *

 

The summer is greens and golds outside your window, an endless roll of grass, trees, and sidewalks, heatwaves rising lazily as you ignore them all inside your room. You let out a long sigh, check your phone, which looks the exact same as the last few times you've checked it. "Dave, buddy," you mutter to yourself, tired, "what are you even waiting for?"

Despite the fact that you’re inside, the heat still manages to be unbearable, turning the air in your room dank and stale from exposure. You could open the windows to get a breeze going, you’re sure, but that would let in the hot air from outside, and there’s almost nowhere for it to go in your small dorm room anyway. So that’s a bust.

For lack of anything else to do, you lift up your hand to check your phone.

Still nothing.

You sigh heavily, letting your hand fall to the couch beside you, the phone slipping from your sweat-slick fingers. The air conditioning rattles above you, the airflow from the machine shaking the strings of pictures you have hung up around the room, but other than that, the room is silent. Your head lolls over to one side. You can't think of anything to do. You just want to get your mind off of the heat.

It's been over three weeks since you last saw John.

Right now, it's nearing the end of May, summer settling in a humid haze over the city. Your job gives you just enough hours for you to still have too much time on your hands to think, which was also supposed to be why John was going to be here. The two of you can come up with endless lists of things to do. And instead, you’re sitting on your couch, contemplating the slow slide you have going on until you give up the battle with gravity and just end up flopped over on the floor.

It’s not a very long battle, all in all.

Carefully, you roll onto your back, one hand on your stomach, the other above your head, and your fingers curl in towards your damp palms. You try to relax. The muscles in your back loosen in painful increments before finally allowing your spine to rest fully on the cool tile floor. You breathe out.

You stare up, hoping to find something interesting, something inspiring in the change of view your new position has allowed you, but the only thing to look at are the photos above you, spun like spider webs across your room. You focus past them. You really, really don't want to pay any attention to them.

And the ceiling is boring as shit. Of course.

You kick your feet idly, just for something to do. It doesn't do much to quell the restless ache building up in your skin.

Itching for any kind of action, you roll over, pick up your phone, turn it on one of your favorite playlists, and let the music go.

But it’s somewhere between you turning your music on and allowing it to become comfortable background noise that your eyes again flick up to the walls and the strings of photographs you have stretched in long lines around the room. During the school year, you don’t clutter up the place like this. Hell, you hadn't exactly been planning on doing it this summer either, but the old canisters of film mocked you, and the obstructed, chaotic view is familiar.

It’s the closest thing to home you think you can get.

One of the photographs flutters in a particularly vigorous gust from the air conditioning. Your mouth ticks to the side at the glimpse of blue and skin, and you swallow down the irritation, letting it go, but the damn feeling nests in your breastbone instead of disappearing.

You push yourself up from the floor, stretching out to tug one of the pictures down. The line bows dramatically, but you don’t pull hard enough to make the picture come free of its clip. John stares back at you, his eyes crinkled in a smile behind the bold lines of his glasses. You caught him mid-laugh when you had taken the picture, and it just looks warm, the curves of John’s fingers slightly more out of focus where they’re dragging through his hair, loose and easy.

You frown.

This picture was taken a few weeks after John had started coming to school here. Before you knew what he tasted like. Before you had resolved the burning twist of want into anything to act on.

Before John kissed you.

(Your fingers clench, and it is an act of will that makes you let the picture go before you permanently crease it.)

But letting that picture go makes the line wobble, sending a few more glossy prints to the floor, and you swear quietly before you kneel down to pick them up, smoothing over any dust and detritus that gathered on them. John is on every picture; there, with his wrists crossed; there, with snow gently falling around his face and lingering in his hair; there, smiling widely in the music building, face flushed; there, asleep. All of the pictures of John you had taken over the last year and a half that you had never developed before, hanging up around you.

He smiles so much.

You drag your teeth over your lower lip once, twice, hard enough that you taste a hint of copper when you run your tongue across the bite to soothe it. You hadn’t put them up before, worried that John would somehow find out that so many pictures you took were of him, always him, and now they’re up and airing out like some kind of penance. Or maybe overexposure therapy. Like maybe if you keep them up around you, you’ll start becoming immune to how John makes you feel.

Maybe you’ll find the reason why he ran away in one of them.

If you did, the pictures would talk more than John ever had, and that, more than anything else, is why your fingers clench.

There is a quiet rip.

And you stare down at the picture in your hands, at the incriminating line of white cutting across the picture’s surface, and that's it. You're done.

It is with an almost detached sort of focus that you grip a bit harder and _pull_.

The photo tears, cutting across John's hip to his opposing shoulder, but his smile is still there and you hate it, you hate it, it's not enough! Without thinking, you grab one, another, a series of pull tug tear where the catharsis gained from tearing all these fucking pieces of paper to shreds doesn't make any difference, but you still can't breathe, can't get enough oxygen to quiet the ringing of blood in your ears. You tear and rip in a frenzy of movement, until finally, you reach out and encounter nothing.

Photo paper flutters to the ground with large, looping plastic sounds.

You look around.

The floor, any flat surface is covered in the ruined pictures, cut out and destroyed parts of John everywhere.

It doesn't make you feel better. Your gut is still clenched and unpleasant, and the storm of action only makes you more jittery, hands and legs trembling as you survey your destruction. Carefully, you kneel down, fish out your phone from under the scraps, and you're dialing without even really thinking about it.

(You stare at the ground while it starts ringing. There's a torn section, just John's smile and jaw and throat, and you imagine that the shadow you can see there was left by your mouth, and you touch it with newly-gentle fingertips.)

You rub your fore and middle fingers across the glossy surface of the ruined picture, a sharp contrast with the ragged edge your thumb is on, and you breathe shakily as the dial sounds in your ear once, twice, and clicks halfway through the third.

“What?”

You let your head fall back, staring up at the blank ceiling. From an artistic standpoint, you know how you would frame the tableau that surrounds you. Chaos on all sides, the torn pictures you took of John strewn like a dirty secret across the floor, and you, kneeling, stare upward with your throat bared, vulnerable and soft. You swallow roughly. You’re done playing the martyr, you think with no small amount of vitriol.

You swallow again, and say, “Hey, Karkat. Wanna hang?”

Karkat, in a moment of surprising delicacy, doesn’t say anything about the state of your room when he comes to pick you up. His dark eyes quickly catalogue the mess of destruction behind you before he shrugs, twirls his keys around his finger, and herds you downstairs with a firm, broad-fingered hand in the small of your back.

* * *

 

[MESSAGES SENT: MAY 30]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 14:06 - -

TG: you know what john i dont have to put up with this  
TG: any message would be good any day now  
TG: just like  
TG: hey hi yeah im alive ill talk later whatever  
TG: is that too much effort for you  
TG: sorry i forgot thats mostly just how it always is with me and you isnt it  
TG: im too difficult

[ _This message has been removed]_

TG: fuck this  
TG: i thought we were friends enough that we could still fucking talk  
TG: good to know im the only one who thought that

* * *

 

"Hey, Rose."

"Dave. Jade filled me in, just so you are aware. My condolences."

"Your condolences and condescension, right?" A long sigh. "Sorry, that was fucking rude, I'm just stressed and upset."

"It's alright. How are you doing?"

"Honestly? I've been hanging out with Karkat. It's been pretty nice, since he's actually really great company and it's nice to get my mind off of things. It would just be nicer if...."

"Mm. I know. I haven't heard anything from John, though. I'll let you know if I do."

"Thanks, Rose, you’re the slightly less dark patch in my neverending maze of complete and utter darkness."

"Well, yes, obviously."

* * *

You just want some kind of sign from John that he's okay. Something. Anything. A drunken call in the middle of the night. Some comment on a social media website.

A text.

Anything.

Nothing.

* * *

“You’ve checked your phone five times in the last six minutes,” Karkat says as you set your phone in your lap. He raises an eyebrow at you when you scowl at him, unimpressed. “What, am I no longer allowed to notice things that my friends do, because if so, I have some fucking news for you; you are actually the least subtle person I have ever met, including Kanaya, and it took her years to stop over-explaining her point and just rest comfortably on the laurels of abundant sarcasm.”

You snort. “Descriptive.”

“As I usually am, yeah.” He nudges you with his foot, but gets up before he asks you anything more.

When he comes back with several bottles of alcohol and sets them on his coffee table, you raise an eyebrow at him. Karkat shrugs, awkward. “Look, it’s my dad’s house, and it’s my birthday tomorrow. He said we could drink as much as we like as long as I don’t drive anywhere, which I’m not planning on doing, so. We can get drunk and talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

You shake your head. “Impressive, dude, but I don’t really do the drinking thing.”

Karkat shrugs. “S’cool. Maybe I’m the one who needs to be drunk to talk about this. I only know peripheral bullshit I’ve picked up like proverbial drama-breadcrumbs, and I already know it’s a terrible topic fit for a soap opera.” You start laughing because there’s nothing else for it, and Karkat continues over you, laughter coloring his voice too, “The bad ones where everyone has an evil twin and two babies with four different people and someone’s dying of a different incurable disease every week. Quality daytime television sort of shit.”

“That’s fucking beautiful. Can we watch one of those?”

“You couldn’t pay me money to watch them, you ignoramus. Let’s watch something better. Like _The Notebook_ or something. Wait, no, the writer of that movie is shit, never mind. Something else. How about _When in Rome_ or _Romancing the Stone_?”

“Oh god, take me out back and call me Lassie, just grab the shotgun and put me out of my misery, Karkat, it’ll be faster.”

“That’s Old Yeller, you uncultured fuck.”

But you end up watching the movies, and ignoring Karkat’s tears except to rib them and make jokes at him, and Karkat mixes only a few drinks for himself. By the time the credits are playing, you’re significantly more relaxed, sinking back into the couch with a haze of comfortable warmth surrounding you.

Which is, of course, when Karkat strikes.

"So, do you wanna talk about John now?"

You sigh, but the automatic defensiveness is a little less abrasive than it was. "Dude, it's your birthday. I'd feel really shitty talking about John now of all times."

"Yeah, well suck it up. It's my birthday, which means I can finally get drunk enough to deal with this shitstorm of a topic, so spill." Karkat swallows a mouthful of his drink and grimaces the whole way down before leveling a stare at you. The dark circles under his eyes are lighter than they usually are, you notice. Maybe he gets more sleep outside of school. "Come on, lay it all out. Wasn't John supposed to be here this summer too, or was I just hallucinating that particular morning where you were blabbering on about it?"

You frown slightly, shrug, look away. "Yeah, he was. But he decided to go home, I guess."

"Guess?"

For a moment, you contemplate covering up that particular misstep, but when you open your mouth, honesty trips out instead. "Haven't exactly talked to him since he left. You know. At the end of the semester.”

There’s a pause.

Karkat swears quietly. "Alright, that's. Progress on the talking front, but now actually tell me what happened. I thought the two of you were butt-buddies. Of all varieties."

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and stare more at your hands than you do anywhere else, twisting your fingers around each other over and over again in comforting, familiar patterns that ground you while you put your words together. "I don't know what you wanna hear, Karkat. Long story really short, we were best friends, and he wanted to experiment with guys and kissing or whatever, so we kinda dated in secret for a year or so. Then…” You scrub your hair with your hand, exhaling tightly. “Then shit got weird this last semester. We were on again, we were off again, and the only thing that stayed consistent is that everything had to be a giant fucking secret.

“Semester ended. He got drunk. John fucked me, told me he loved me, and disappeared before we could talk about it, and I haven't exactly heard anything from him since he left, okay? It's over, we're done, clearly he doesn't want anything more to do with me, because if he did, we'd be talking. Or something. He would've said something about his plans changing before he left. Anything. But he didn't, so." You shrug, out of anything to say.

In your periphery, you see Karkat nod, then he reaches out to nab the bottle of liquor and takes a pull straight from it. You raise an eyebrow at him. Karkat only shrugs, swallows. "I don’t think I was actually drunk enough. Working on that now, though. Here," he says, and passes the bottle to you.

You regard it carefully, and then sigh and suffer the burn of alcohol as you drink it. You're not drunk enough for this either, if you’re being honest.

Hours later, you’ve both migrated from the couch to the floor, and another movie is playing on aimlessly in the background. Your phone is in your hands, your thumb hovering over John’s name in an indecisive haze, and eventually, you lower your head to your arms, let your phone fall to the side.

“I just wanted to talk to him,” you admit to the space between your knees.

Beside you, Karkat sighs, presses up against you in a small, warm line of comfort. “I know, Dave. I know. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You want to believe that.

You really, really want to think that was true, that you hadn’t done anything to deserve the way that John’s been treating you, but for however angry you get, there is a part of you that wonders, gnawing and constant:

You had to have done _something_ , right?

If you had done something different, maybe he could have seen you as something more than the fun little experiment you clearly were.

Silently, you reach out and snag the cocktail that’s been waiting for you, and you down it all in a long, burning swallow. That’s a road of thought you don’t want to go down.

* * *

 

(Something brushes over your cheek, soft and warm, and you turn towards it like a flower towards the sun, confused and indistinct, and Karkat only sighs and presses down just that much firmer. “You’re a fucking mess, Strider,” he says quietly, the words harsh and the tone sad, and your mouth pulls inward because it’s true.

You’re in a bed, you realize with no cognizant awareness of how you got there, and you stir for a second before an arm wraps around your waist. The familiarity of the movement, of the position stills you, and you are confused and tired and bone-achingly, directionlessly sad.

“Go to sleep,” Karkat murmurs against the back of your neck, tucked up small and warm against you. Another press. “Shhh, just go to sleep.”)

* * *

[MESSAGES SENT: JUNE 6]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 23:21 - -

TG: i mean seriously what the fuck john  
TG: what theasdtual fuck  
TG: this is seriously sdcrewed up fo you and youre a fucking jacklass to fuck and run like that  
TG: asshole  
TG: what the fuck is wrong with you  
TG: im too drunk for this  
TG: fuck this an fuck you too

[MESSAGES SENT: JUNE 7]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 03:38 - -

TG: please dont be mad anymore  
TG: i dont want you to be mad at me

* * *

 

Life, as immutable as it is, moves on.

You don’t hear anything, you don’t hear anything, you don’t care that you don’t hear anything, and it all fades out until it is so much background noise that you move through without thought.

* * *

 

“Hey, Jade.”

“Yeah?”

“Any news on the war front?”

“Nothing new. He’s still not answering the phone, and my uncle isn’t making him talk either. I know he’s home. I know he’s safe. I don’t know anything else.”

A long sigh. “Thanks for checking, anyway, and sorry to keep bothering you about it.”

“Not a problem, Strider.”

“Alright, now, what’s been going on with you and Italy, hm? Talk to me, Jade-a-laid, tell me about all of the attractive people you have swooning over you in ye grande Europe. I bet you have three or four offers of mansions and small islands from various members of some nobility or the other. At the very least, some herds of small animals, am I right?”

* * *

 

June comes and goes, and July is brought in with the raucous noise of fireworks being set off a few days too early, and you and Karkat have been spending almost every available moment together. Something that’s easy to do, given that he lives in town and you have no other friends in town anymore.

Now that Karkat’s twenty-one, he seems to enjoy going out to bars and clubs, not for the drinks or dancing (since all he tends to do is stand against a wall and bitch about the music), but rather for lack of anything else to do, and it’s on one of these particular Friday evenings that he leans over to you and shouts:

“Strider, I never thought I’d say this to you, but you need to get laid.”

You snort. “I was getting laid, in case you hadn’t noticed. I think that might actually be the-”

“Then you need to get laid by someone _else._ Not all dicks are created equal, asshole.” Karkat snorts into the glass he has raised to his lips. “You’re not chemically dependent on fucking John and John alone. If he was screwing other people, you should be free to go for some dick on the side, especially since he ran away and isn’t here anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow before leaning in to shout over a particularly enthusiastic bass line, “And what if I wanted a girl, hm?”

“Then I’d have to suffer through yet another earful from my brother about how I’m “marginalizing your sexuality and trying to force you into a predetermined box instead of allowing you the freedom to discover who you really are.”” Karkat makes a disgusted face, lowering his free hand from its air-quote position. “Don’t give him more of a reason to natter on about this. I live with him. It’s torture enough.”

“You talk to Kankri about me and John?”

“He’s a pretentious dillhole, but he’s fucking charismatic and persistent as shit.” Sighing heavily, Karkat looks away from you, absently studying the crowd as he picks up his glass again. “And I needed to yell to someone about all of this bullshit, otherwise I was going to explode. He’s actually not bad at listening, as long as you can stand his helpful _advice_ afterward.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the music fill the blanks. “What does he think? About John and me?”

Reluctantly, and still resolutely not looking at you, Karkat answers, “He thinks John’s behavior is typical for someone exploring his sexuality and you should simply allow him the emotional, sexual, and apparently now _physical_ freedom to do whatever he pleases. Which is, incidentally, a lesson I could do with learning, according to him.”

You wince sympathetically. “Ah, still hung up on-”

“We’re not talking about me and my fucked-up trainwreck of romantic garbage, Dave. We’re talking about you and yours. And again, I think you need to get laid.”

“Yeah, so I can go from one person using me for my body to someone else also using me for my body. Great plan.”

“Only this time, when someone says ‘No strings attached,’ they actually mean it,” he snaps. He takes a slow breath, lets it out with a huff. “...Sorry.”

You can’t help your fond smile. “Hey, Karkat.”

“What.”

“Thanks. For worrying.”

“Don’t get mushy on me, Strider. Like most things, it’s not a good look on you. Now.” He sets his now-empty glass down and looks out over the bar with purpose in his gaze. “Who here is your type?”

You sigh. He’s not going to let this go, so you decide to humor him and actually examine the other patrons of the bar. No, no, no, definitely not, no, maybe, probably would beat you up before sucking your dick, and.

There’s a reedy looking guy across the bar who looks passingly familiar, and he looks just about as disinterested in his surroundings as you feel, so you nudge Karkat with your shoulder (almost hitting him in the face) before you point at your target. It takes Karkat a moment to scan the crowd and confirm who you’re talking about, and when you do, his face scrunches up.

“Oh god, did you have to pick him,” Karkat groans, and it’s not a question, for all that the phrasing makes it one.

You hide your grin in your glass of soda. Oh man, he was a better pick than you originally thought. “Why, what’s the matter with him?”

“I know him. He’s. Fuck, look, he’s a good friend of mine, that’s all,” Karkat hedges

“...Oh, is _he_ the-”

“ _No_. No, I told you. We are _not_ talking about me. Plus, when have female pronouns ever meant an identifying male?” He makes a face at himself. “I’ve been listening to Kankri too much. Smack me if I ever say that again.”

“It means you’re sensitive, play up to your strengths,” you say heartlessly, but you let the conversation lull, the thudding, grating music of the bar filtering the silence between you. “So a girl, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

“Do I know her?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“It’s totally Jade.”

Karkat studiously avoids your gaze before sighing roughly. “Jade and not just Jade.” You raise an eyebrow at him, making it a point to tilt down your shades so he can see. He flips you off almost affectionately when he notices. “I’m a very lonely person, okay.”

“How many people are you hopelessly head over heels for and want to date, Karkat?”

“That’s none of your goddamned business, Strider. I am a rock of fucking virtue, and my romantic entanglements are pure, untouchable, and, again, none of your business.” Scowling, Karkat takes a pointed sip from his drink and looks away from you.

You shake your head. “Ballpark it for me.”

“Look, to assuage your curiosity and to get you the hell off my back already…” He starts counting on his fingers, and takes the time to flip you off with his other hand when you bite down on your lips to hide your grin. “Five or six? Don’t fucking look at me like that. I can’t help it if everyone is attractive and really great and funny and amazing and...” he trails off, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

The air is tense between you. You’re not dense enough to not understand the subtext of the conversation that’s going on, so you nudge Karkat companionably with your shoulder as you say, “And you say _I’m_ the one who needs to get laid.”

“I need to be tenderly caressed and kissed and emotionally engaged, but I’m not about to sacrifice any of my friendships on the off-chance that something might work and the far larger likelihood that I’ll fuck it up royally. _You_ need to get fucked.” Karkat shoves you back, but the tension is gone, and you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief. You don’t want to end up in John’s position with Karkat playing a much more recalcitrant you.

You tilt your head. “So how many of these people know you want to date them?”

“Approximately none of them.” Karkat holds up his hand, cutting you off. “Don’t even start. I hear it enough from everyone else. Relationships are complicated and... I don’t know if any of them like me too. Well,” he amends after a second, “I know that at least one of them doesn’t want me back.”

You clap a hand on his shoulder. “That’s rough. Sorry.”

He half-smiles at you. “Yeah, well, whatever, I’ll figure something out eventually. Now seriously, quit stalling and go talk to him.”

“He’s your friend. You could at least introduce me.”

Karkat swears under his breath but leads you over to his friend. You hide a smile as you follow him. God, Karkat’s a fucking trooper.

“Hey, asswipe!” Karkat yells, and the guy just flips him off with a delighted grin before dragging him into something that’s almost a hug, but with much less physical contact. “Sollux, this is Dave. Dave, Sollux. Please fuck and put me out of my misery, because I’ve heard too much from both of you about your respective sex lives. Or lack thereof.”

The guy tilts down his red and blue lensed glasses (which, what) to reveal heterochromatic eyes, a striking white-blue and brown. He looks at you and then at Karkat. Then, his voice tinged with a hint of a lisp, he says, dryly, “Seriously, Kay-kay.”

“Don’t fucking start, Sollux.”

He looks amused, holding up his hands in a mocking sort of placation. “Alright, no need to get so worked up.”

You blink. “I’m missing something here.”

“It’s not important,” Sollux and Karkat say simultaneously, though Sollux’s grin is wicked as Karkat turns to glare at him warningly. After a moment of holding each other's gaze, Sollux continues. "So, you're the one he's been worried about, huh? He's one to fucking talk, isn't he? What is it, a new romantic crisis a week with you, Kay-kay?"

You grin despite yourself because this guy has the right idea about Karkat at least, that's for sure, and Karkat's swiping at him is mostly ineffectual and almost friendly. You tuck your thumbs into your belt loops, canting your hips to one side as you shrug. "Yeah, basically. Karkat could stand to worry about his own problems for a while."

"I'm a lot better at other people's problems, asshat," Karkat says bitingly. "Besides, we're not here to talk about me, again, as I've been saying this whole fucking night; eventually you guys will get the memo that I am not on the bulleted list of topics to discuss. But the point tonight is to get Dave laid. You, Sollux, for some undefinable reason, are his type, and I know that Dave's yours." You shoot Karkat a curious look and he shrugs. "We've talked about it. So get with the boning."

You swallow past your smile, torn between rushes of heat and awkwardness.

"Don't get so upset, asshole." But Sollux turns to look at you appraisingly, raises one eyebrow. He gives you a remarkably frank once over and grins. “And as attractive as you are, which hey, I’m not blind or stupid, how awkward would it be if we ditched this loser to screw? It would be awful. Pass.”

And you.

You laugh, because he’s right. “Yeah, sorry, Karkat. We’ll have to find someone else.”

“Fuck, jesus, fine, screw you guys, only not because you guys aren’t going to do the screw. Fuck. Alright, Strider, you’re banned from picking since you are apparently awful at it. I will do the honors of picking your next beau and you’d better be pretty damn appreciative of the trouble I go through for you.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t look like John.

His eyes are brown and his hair is bleached blond and he’s taller than you, lanky and muscled in the way that means he hits the gym regularly without much of a goal in mind.

When he smiles, it isn’t lopsided and his teeth are even. He loves stupid shooter video games and is probably about as smart as a stump, but levels of intelligence can be difficult to judge when someone’s slurring their words into a beer glass. He’s nothing like John. Which, you suppose, is the point that Karkat was trying to make, hip braced against the bar like he’s got something to prove.

His name is Donald. He’s majoring in sports and drinking and he couldn’t be further from your type if possible (but that’s a stupid yardstick anyway because your type normally fits John to a tee and you don’t want John) but you find him attractive enough anyway.

You smirk at him when he presses closer to you, invites you back to his room, and you accept. Fuck, what else are you supposed to do? Moon like a lovesick teenager over the asshole who hurt you? Nah, fuck that, you’re going to make like Romeo and fall in love again in thirty minutes.

You follow him back to his room, onto his bed. It’s teeth and sarcasm and long-fingered hands running over your body, and it lacks the sort of dread that you associated with John. When he presses inside you, it doesn’t feel like something you have to fight for, and you bow back and give in and give in and it is good.

It's just also not quite what you're missing.

(He doesn’t look like John.

But in the dark he could, and if you close your eyes, all you feel is JohnJohnJohn and you hate feeling like you’re cheating on someone who wouldn’t even care.)

* * *

 

You walk out of that room and back to the bar, where you find Karkat and Sollux just leaving, Karkat’s phone pressed against his ear.

“Oh,” he says, pulling it away and hanging up. “Good, there you are. Let’s go back to yours to watch a movie or something, because it’s getting fucking rowdy in there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, falling into step with them both. Sollux and Karkat seem to be entrenched in a conversation that they quickly resume once you start walking, something about programming, you think. It seems to keep them occupied well enough, and you tilt your head back to look up at the sky, looking for the space between the stars where your eyes focus on nothing at all.

* * *

 

Later, you’re lounging on the bed, Karkat snoring quietly on the couch, enjoying the lingering ache of your muscles, and Sollux is resting beside you, picking up things from your desk and examining them. It’s comfortable and quiet, which is, of course, when Sollux decides to interrupt your half-drowse.

“So, what’s his name? Jay-something, I got that much.”

You tense, watching Sollux play with your lighter. Sighing, you roll over onto your stomach. “He’s… Just this guy, alright. I have feelings for him, he doesn’t have feelings for me, end of story.”

Sollux laughs, slants a look at you, blue eye much more stark than brown in the dim light. “Except not really? That doesn’t sound like the end of the story to me. I’ve heard Kay-kay begin to mention shit like this before he tells me it’s too complicated.”

You can’t exactly refute that. And you know that you don’t _have_ to say anything to Sollux; you don’t owe him your story. But at the same time, you sort of want to say it. Grudgingly, you answer, “It is a bit complicated. He. He knows, I think, that I like him. But he’s so busy insisting that he’s not into guys that he’s completely ignoring the fact that he’s fucking one!” You flick your hands up in an aborted gesture of frustration.

He turns on his side, watching you intently. “So, he uses you for sex and insists that he doesn’t like you? What an asshole.”

“It gets worse,” you grumble bitterly. It feels good to talk about this, to get off all of the things you wish you could say to John without any guilt. (But that’s a lie, the guilt is already creeping up on you because now you’re talking about him behind his back and what kind of friend are you anyway. What kind of friend was he to leave, though? You’re so confused.) “He’s my best friend. And my roommate. So we got along great outside of the bedroom, but no one could know about what happened inside of it. And shit blew up, and he ran away to his house back in Washington instead fucking talking to me about everything.”

Sollux whistles, a soft, low sound. “Wow, what a fucking coward.”

And you know he’s right.

That’s the worst part, you know he’s right.

But still your mouth opens for you to say: “Well, really, he’s not all as bad as that, I’m pissed at him, I’m not very objective. Guy’s my best bro for a reason, you know. I just need to get over him. He’s not. He’s amazing, alright? Funny and smart, and he’ll never not be there for you. I was into him for a reason. I’m just angry with him right now.”

Sollux levels you a look that only increases the amount of guilt you’re feeling before he shakes his head. “Look, take it from someone who’s been there: stay angry. Forgiving him is only going to hurt you.”

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

Sollux lets out a long, quiet sigh and knocks his shoulder against yours companionably. You slant a look at him, meet his eyes, red meeting bright blue and deep brown, twitch one shoulder in a manner that could be construed as a shrug, and Sollux nods to himself. “Alright, Strider,” he says, exaggerating his own lisp outrageously, “wanna smoke? I have some cigarettes.”

“Shit’s not good for you,” you answer, grinning weakly.

“You seem to be in the habit of doing shit that’s not good for you. What’s one more thing?” Sollux says, waving his hand as he rolls out of the bed and starts searching for his pants. He finds them after a moment and leans down to pull something out of the pocket. He tosses it at you, and you catch it reflexively before looking down.

A pack of cigarettes.

You raise an eyebrow at Sollux.

He shrugs as he pulls his pants on, doing up the button on his fly. “Might as fucking well, right?”

You look him over -reed thin and long-fingered, his posture slouching once he has his hands in his pockets again- and Sollux is half-illuminated by your window, lines of orange light on one side and deep blue shadow on the other, and his gaze is inscrutable. You nod to yourself, once more for him. “Yeah,” you say with a long exhale. You stand slowly, hands, curled into fists, pressed to your trembling thighs. “Yeah, might as well.”

* * *

 

You smoke with Sollux, sitting on the hillside outside your dorm where John always found you time after time, and what conversation there is begins minimal, peters out until you both end up chain-smoking grimly into the night, letting the muggy air take the clouds of nicotine and tar away from you.

* * *

 

The next morning, you wake up alone.

Your head is fuzzy as you sit up, rubbing at your face, and it’s barely even a thought for you to call in sick to work. You can't do it today.

Maybe it's a bit more accurate to say that you don't want to, but fuck it.

Fuck it.

You lay back down, curl up with your phone screen close to your face, and you resolve to just look at this today. Just this. You don't want to do anything else. Your head hurts, you're tired, you feel sick and gross, and you don't want to think. You want your gameboy and your phone and you want to quit the rest of the world. Just for today.

Tomorrow, you'll face everything again.

But today, you're just going to hide.

* * *

 

[MESSAGES SENT: JULY 15]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 12:01 - -

TG: i fucked someone else  
TG: not like its any of your business i guess but  
TG: thats what you wanted right  
TG: for me to move on  
TG: i just want to talk john jfc throw me something  
TG: i thought we were at least friends

* * *

 

You find yourself, a few days later, wandering into the music building. You don't know why, exactly, you do; it's not like there's any real reason for you to be here now that John isn't dragging you along with him, but there you are. The dust in the air is less magical now, and there is no ringing laughter.

There is no John, leaning over the stair's railing, smiling at you while you can barely hear for the blood rushing through your body.

(Your chest clenches, and for a long moment, you can't breathe, just like the last time you were here, but it's pain instead of joy that freezes you.)

The whole building is quiet.

Not in any way you expect it to be, honestly. The hum of electronics and air conditioning is omnipresent, surrounding you and pressing in.

John still hasn’t answered your calls at all and the only clue you have that he’s safe and not dead is the vague reassurance that you get from Jade when she tells you that she had finally gotten John on the phone. Which isn't much reassurance at all, since it means that yes, he's just blatantly ignoring you.

In a moment of bitterness, you think that it's nothing new.

You sit down in the middle of the lobby and look up, up, up, until you're laying flat on your back, cool tile pressing through your shirt.

Mostly, though, if you're being honest things are actually okay. That scares you the most, the moments when you realize that you’ve been going on just fine and you start to wonder if you should be reacting differently at all, if the fact that you’re fine means that John didn’t mean that much to you anyway, and if you’re getting over him, which opens up a whole new confused spectrum of issues. You shouldn’t feel such cutting loss over the idea that you might be moving on. That’s what you’re supposed to do.

You’re fine.

(Until you remember John, but even that has dialed down from hurt to confusion to sadness to almost nothing at all.

You go on.)

* * *

 

“Karkat, jesus, no, fuck, we are _not_ watching fucking- what is this anyway? This look awful, no, get off of me, no, Sollux, be a bro and help me out.”

“Sure thing.”

“No, you fucking traitor! Don’t you dare take Pride and Prejudice out, fuck you it’s a goddamned-”

“Snooze-fest, yeah, we know. How does Star Wars sound?”

“Better than that!”

“I hate you both, you are both officially uninvited to this party, so pack up your shit and get the fuck out of my house and _stop throwing popcorn at me, Sollux, you twit.”_

* * *

 

[MESSAGES SENT: AUGUST 13]

\- - turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 22:46 - -

TG: are you even coming back to college  
TG: school starts next week after all  
TG: i mean fuck your shits still here  
TG: what you left behind anyway

* * *

 

You wake up a few days before school is slated to start to the sound of people talking and hauling boxes around outside your door and window as people fill up the building in trickles and bursts. The dorm is no longer achingly empty, and you enjoy the noises of other people; you thought you would be more okay without seeing anyone than you really were and even if you don't interact with hardly anyone, other people coming back means that your friends are going to return too, and it's been way too fucking long since you've gotten to see Rose and Jade.

Carefully, you pull yourself out of bed, wander over to the window. Below you, students and families rush back and forth between cars and rooms, hauling belongings as they go, and you smile at them, amused and somehow comforted by watching them.

You think this might be okay. Even if - _when_ \- you see John again, when John comes back, you’ll be okay. You’ll be friends with him, assuming he apologizes, but nothing more. You’re over him, over this; you’re tired of the drama and unnecessary bullshit, and frankly, you think you’re more than ready to let John off the hook and let bygones be bygones.

That’s what you think, anyway.

On the desk beside you, your phone buzzes.

You lift it up and freeze.

[1 new message from: ectoBiologist]

With shaking fingers, you open it up.

\- - ectoBiologst [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:23 - - 

EB: yeah, sorry dave. i’m coming in tomorrow. jade and rose are picking me up from the airport, so you don’t have to worry. then we can talk. about everything.

Your fingers clench, dragging across your phone’s screen, and remember how you were calm about two minutes ago?

Not so much anymore.

You type out your response, throw your phone against the bed to hear it clatter to the floor a moment later, and you allow yourself a few seconds of complete rage before you pick it up and check it over for damage. The phone is fine. The chat is still open, displaying several lines of red text, a single line of blue, and a final, closing line of red.

TG: little fucking late for that aint it

* * *

 

You pace around the room for hours the next day, waiting, waiting for updates on the girl’s progress (GG: almost there!!! 8D cant wait to see your stupid face again.) and waiting for John. You could barely sleep, your mind running a million miles per hour, and you’re tired and nervous and you shouldn’t be nervous. It’s just John, for crying out loud.

But for all of your talk, you don’t know what you’re going to do.

Should you yell at him? Does he even warrant that much attention from you? You brace your hands on the windowsill, staring out without really seeing anything, and you feel brittle down to your bones. Wound tight and trembling. Maybe you should just let things be between the two of you and let this pass over like so many other things have.

The door opens behind you.

There's the quiet pat of footsteps, and you resolutely do not look away from the window, choosing to instead clench your fists and wait through the nauseating storm of nerves, panic, everything flooding your system right now. Your breath comes fast, faster, and you close your eyes, deliberately slowing yourself down. Steeling yourself. You hear an inhale behind you.

(You tense.)

"Hey, Dave," John says, and, fuck, you're not prepared. You're not ready for this, no matter how much you thought you were, because you're not calm or zen or scared or anything.

You're _pissed_.

You take deliberately slow breaths before you're able to speak, and it still takes you a few tries to wet your mouth properly, to form the word where you want it, to ensure that your voice will not, _will not_ , crack. "Sup, John."

"Not much." It sounds like he's moving around you, or trying to, and you turn slightly, just enough to keep him away from your line of sight. You busy your hands with, something. Picking at the threads of the couch. There are a fair number of loose threads here. John continues with no indication that he noticed your deflection. "Glad to be back here, though. I missed you guys."

The snort that comes out of you is completely understandable, you feel. "Yeah, that would've been easier to believe if you had, oh shit, I dunno, actually bothered talking to any of us-" _me, why didn't you talk to me,_ "-over the summer. Weird.”

John sighs. “Yeah, probably. Look, I just needed some time to think by myself.”

You whip around towards him sharply and-.

John's eyes are still stupidly, wonderfully blue behind his glasses, and he smiles at you in the slightly lopsided way he always has. His skin has been gently tanned from the summer, leaving John with a few, sporadic freckles across his cheeks and nose, and he fills out his clothes a bit more fully than he did before he left, as though he spent time working out rather than thinking, and you’re mad at him. You are. You also haven’t quite stopped finding him attractive either. You know what he feels like and how he kisses, and you've missed John this entire summer.

Fuck, you missed him.

Strangely, though, it's easier than you expected to shove down the urge to give in, to do something, to just forgive him and let it go.

You swallow.

“You could’ve just said that,” you say quietly, barely more than a whisper. John’s smile drops into a frown.

“What?”

“You could’ve just said that,” you say again, louder this time, and your damn traitorous voice quavers.

"I..." John lets out a long sigh. "Yeah, I could've, but I didn't. Can we just go ahead and talk about everything now?"

"What, now that _you're_ ready?" You shake your head tightly. "No. I'm not here to be convenient whenever you decide that you have time for me, John. I was ready to talk any time this summer, which is why I kept fucking messaging you, and I'm done with you being the one calling the shots. We'll talk when I'm ready."

John drags his teeth over his lip. You have the sudden sense-memory of his teeth against your skin, and your next exhale is tight and shaky as you turn away, go to the door, grasp the doorknob.

John's voice gives you pause. "And when is that going to be?"

"I don't know, but it's not right now," you say before you walk out the door, letting it swing closed behind you with a satisfying click.

* * *

 

Karkat doesn't even look surprised when you knock on his door, and he lets you in with a few muttered curses and the order that if you’re going to be sulking there, you’re going to at least be useful. You spend the evening with him and Sollux, unpacking their shit and laughing when Karkat trips over something and ends up face first in a pair of Sollux's underwear.

You're happy when you're around them.

It's good.

An unpleasant knot of tension loosens in your chest, and you breathe a bit easier.

* * *

 

After that, it’s almost easier to ignore John than to do anything else. You don’t talk to him, you don’t talk about him. You go to your classes, hang out with Karkat and Sollux, talk to Rose and Jade, and you try to make sure you’re in your own room as infrequently as possible. You don’t give yourself any window of opportunity to give in.

John, in a move that surprises you, doesn’t push.

He waves at you when you come by the room for clothes; he sits on Jade and Rose’s couch and laughs and hangs out; he moves towards you with the intent to touch and never quite manages more than a hand clapped on your shoulder, the warmth lingering and spreading to your face, your chest. John sleeps in his own bed and doesn’t say anything, and you are torn between wanting to just never talk about what happened between the two of you and getting it over with. Get the hurt out before it kills you.

You live on a knife’s edge, teetering back and forth and unsure of which side you want to come down on.

You force yourself to maintain your initial standpoint on the whole “John being back at college and living in your space and smiling and still being such an easy, easy temptation” debacle, and if that standpoint has a distinct air of “Danger, Will Robinson,” well. That’s really no one else’s business but yours.

It’s safer than the alternative, you tell yourself.

But the stalemate can only hold out for so long.

* * *

 

“Oh, hey, Dave," and you jerk back in surprise, fingers slipping on the doorknob to the room. John raises an eyebrow at you from where he's sitting on the couch, but laughs quietly and lets it go, closing his laptop and turning to kneel on the couch cushions as you drop your bag. "What's up?"

You shrug. "Not much. Just. Back from class. Might go hang out somewhere or something, I'm not sure yet."

"Well," John says, pushing himself up, "if you don't really have any plans, wanna come hang out with me instead? We can play some video games or go to dinner, just the two of us. Like old times, you know?"

Your mouth thins out at the reminder, your cautiously good mood souring. "I don't think that's a good idea," you say, turning away from him.

“Dude, c’mon, seriously?” John says, reaching out to rap you on the shoulder with his knuckles, and you cannot, cannot stand the idea of him touching you with such casual intimacy, in a gesture you used to use all the time on each other. One that led up, time and time again, to touches that lingered more, meant more. “Look, I thought you wanted to talk, and I’ve been waiting-”

“God, John, just! Leave me alone, alright?” you burst out, your stomach twisting into knots, watery and unpleasant; you feel so, so very nauseous. John stops, his hand hovering a breath away from you, and you watch his hand clench into a fist, bob uncertainly, unflex, drop.

“Dave, what’s-”

You shake your head, squeeze your eyes shut behind your glasses. “No, I told you. Leave me alone.”

There is a long, long silence.

A sigh.

“Alright. Alright, I’ll go.”

And then you hear his footsteps.

Your head jerks up just in time to see the door close behind him and you.

You didn’t expect him to actually leave when you asked him to. John doesn’t do what you want.

But the evidence stands. John has left the room, and your stomach stops its sickening clenches. Your face feels numb, you notice and everything feels not quite present, one half-step off from reality. You cross to the window, hesitate, then you part the blinds and look out.

For a long moment, there’s nothing to see. Then the front door opens, and you see John. Without any pause or hesitance in his stride, he walks down the sidewalk towards the rest of the campus, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and when he looks up unerringly at your window, you twitch back. Your thoughts are whirling wildly, and you shake your head, confused.

 (You feel a frissure of uncertainty, twisting your fingers tightly in the fabric of your shirt. Maybe…)

You shake your head and walk out of the room with even steps, because you don’t know how long John is going to be away, and you don’t want to be here when he gets back. You feel sick and avoidant, but going to Karkat’s room is easier than taking to John will ever be, and you want to put it out of your mind.

You don’t want to talk to him at all.

You nudge open the door to Karkat’s room with one shoulder and slouch in, waving one hand in a vague generality of a greeting. “Yo, Karkat, sup?”

Karkat looks up from his position on the floor, hunched over a book in his lap. As you make your way past him to the couch, Karkat side-eyes you with the kind of trepidation typically saved for two week old dirty dishes and unpleasant smelling people on public transport. “You aren’t here to whine about your bodice-ripper worthy problems with John, are you?”

“Fuck no. I’m done with that shit,” you groan, kicking your feet up onto his shitty little cinder block and plywood excuse for a coffee table.

“Good, because I don’t have the patience to get your head all the way out of your ass today. What’ll it be? Video games or a movie? Wait, that’s right, I promised to educate you on the finer points of the fusion of romance and comedy, so sit down and buckle the fuck up.”

“Do we have to?”

“I already have the snacks and tissues ready, and you’re intruding on my space, so, yeah. Fuck you.”

“I thought these were comedies. Why tissues?”

“... shut up is why, now _shut up_.”

The movies are predictably awful, made bearable by Sollux's return in the middle and his subsequent mockery that you gleefully join in on. Karkat kicks you out of his room after a particularly bad banana joke, and you're still laughing when you go into your room, forgetting, momentarily, why you left in the first place.

But John is nowhere to be seen.

Your shoulders relax.

As you move around the couch, you strip off your shirt, tossing it into your dirty laundry hamper before pulling out a clean shirt from the dresser. You turn around, put it on, and that's when you finally notice John.

Asleep, stretched out on the couch. His arm is tossed over his head, fingers half-curled, face pressed against his raised shoulder. John is tinted blue and black from the light streaming in from the window, blanket tangled haphazardly around his feet, and you swallow roughly past the long-familiar burn in your skin. He's not yours to touch anymore. He never really was, and the thought sobers you, turns you back to your bed, and you climb in without a word, without removing his glasses, without covering him up, and you fall asleep shaking.

You don't sleep well at all. It's a struggle to pull yourself from bed. _It's only September,_ you think grumpily, dragging a hand down your face. _It shouldn't be this hard to wake up already._ You force yourself through the day with a dogged, half-nauseous determination, looking forward only to getting out of each class, for the breeze on the quad as you walk across campus, but it's never quite enough to shake the feeling of unease that lurks over you.

John is waiting in the room when you return from classes, and when he sees you, he hops off his bed, takes a few steps towards you before stopping. You move past him, staying out of arm’s reach as much as possible, and for the most part, John lets you, though you can feel him hovering behind you like a physical presence against your skin.

“Hey, Dave, uh. Can we talk?”

Oh, yeah, you don’t want to be here at all. You shake your head, digging through the set of drawers for something to wear tomorrow, because you’re either going to sleep on the girls’ couch or Karkat’s, but either way, you’re not going to be here.

John sighs, put upon. “Come on, Dave, I just want to talk. Is that so bad?” You say nothing, and when your silence grates on, John lets out another aggravated breath. “Dave. Alright, if you’re not going to say anything, then I’m just going to go ahead and start talking about this, okay? Okay good.”

Alright, that’s enough of that.

“God damn it, John.” You sigh and stand upright, whirling to face him for the first time tonight. John’s eyebrows are drawn down and set, determined, chin up. He’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, though, and you fight the urge to cross your arms. “Look, I thought I made it pretty damn clear that I don’t want to talk until I’m fucking ready.”

John snorts. “At your pace, Dave, you’re never going to be ready. Just stop avoiding me-”

“Like you did for the entire summer?” you snipe back.

His cheeks flush red, a crawling sweep of embarrassment, but John breathes in and out, clearly trying to calm himself down. “Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m tired of waiting around. It’s been weeks. You were asking me all summer to talk, so let’s talk.”

For a moment, you consider it, your resolve softening. He’s right, you _had_ been asking to talk.

John drags his hands through his dark hair, pulling on some small knots. “Come on, Dave, I’m trying to apologize here. I’m just. Sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to run away or hurt you, or anything, but I’m tired of walking on eggshells here wondering if you’re ever going to talk to me again! I think we can go back to being, you know. Us. It’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” you say, “you wanna talk? Let’s talk about how you used me and left me behind, huh? Let’s talk about you _fucking me_ and walking out for three months. And then you came back like I was supposed to ignore it, because guess what? That’s what _you_ _did_. I tried to talk to you when you left and I didn’t get a fucking message in return, not even an ‘I’m alive, I just need some time to think’ message. I got nothing. The only reason i even found out you weren't dead somewhere was from Jade! Let’s talk about that, yeah?”

John looks like he’s about to say something, but you hold up your hand, stepping forward, because no, he’s not interrupting you this time.

“Let’s talk about how you _cheated on me_.” John opens his mouth, and you cut him off again. “Yeah, cheated on me. Not ‘used me to cheat on your girlfriend,’ but on me, because we had more of a relationship than you and her did. You wanna know the difference? You never pretended it was nothing between you, which is hilarious, because it really was nothing in the end.”

“Dave, shut the fuck up! That wasn’t-”

“No, you shut the fuck up,” you snap.

John, to your surprise and his, actually stops.

“You wanted to talk, so here it is! I’m tired of playing by your rules, because I’m tired of not talking about what happened between the two of us. I was fucking invested. I,” you swallow, push past the sudden jangle of nerves, and your momentum slows, your voice dwindles from its near-shout. “I loved you. I loved you, and you just.”

And that’s when you stop. You bite the inside of your mouth because it’s a thought that’s occurred to you, more than once, but never so strongly as it has right now. Right now, it clamors at you, swirling your thoughts around until it’s the only thing that comes, repeating over and over itself.

“What, Dave?” John asks, tired but open, his eyes searching yours, his hand slightly outstretched, still reaching for you. “I just what?”

“Used me,” you say.

And fuck he looks so startled, like a deer caught in the headlights. His mouth opens, closes, and all the while your heart is killing you with how crushed it is. You can’t keep doing this. And he just refuses to say anything, and there’s a slow, so slow realization coming into his eyes that makes your stomach drop out.

Fuck, he hadn’t even-.

“Dude, _no!”_ John protests, aghast, “I didn’t-. I didn’t mean to do that to you, okay? You and I, we. Fuck, look, I’m sorry that you thought that, but-”

“But what?” you laugh, broken open now like a dam. “But what, John? What the fuck do you have to say now that can change anything? ‘Oh baby, no, I wasn’t just using you, come back to me?’ Fuck that, John. _Fuck that and fuck you_.”

John makes an inarticulate noise, drags his hands through his short, dark hair, and you raptly watch the frustration flicker across his face. “You’re not listening to me! Hell, you’re not even giving me a chance to talk-”

“Gee, I wonder how that feels. There’s no way you can make any of this better, I know I was just an experiment to you, and even if I wasn’t, that doesn’t fix anything,” you retort. “Did you really think that an apology would make up for everything you did? That you’d just get to waltz in and say that you’re sorry for everything that you did and I’d swoon, hop back on your dick, and ride that into the sunset? I’m not going to just do whatever you want.”

John growls, bites out, “Well, what I wanted never really mattered, did it?”

Un- _fucking_ -believable.

You see red.

The sound of your fist slamming into John's cheek is a satisfying crunch.

Fucker deserves it, and the solid impact of your fist in his face settles the disturbed and unhappy part of you just a little bit. It sends his glasses flying off of his face, but John doesn’t wait around either, just rolls with the punch and he comes at you, going in for a grapple like he always does. Twisting away, you kick him in the knee, dodge his attempt at punching you back. You have to keep your distance. He can almost always win a grappling match between you two, even with how much taller you are.

You aren’t going to let him win easily though.

It’s a quiet, brutal fight, both of you too angry for words, though questions keep piling up behind your teeth. Why did this happen to you? Why did he do this to you? Why does he think you never gave him anything he wanted?

_Why?_

He lands a solid punch to your face with a crack that you hear more than feel, and it takes you a few seconds to adjust to a sudden, unexpected change in light.

Your shades fall to the floor with a clatter of glass and metal, and both you and John stare at them for what feels like a long, long time before you feel your lips pull back into a snarl. You launch yourself at John, ignoring the crack of glass when you accidentally step on one of the shattered lenses.

“Dave, John, are you- What are you two _doing?”_ Rose shouts, and there are arms around you, a firm hand on your shoulder, pulling you apart before you’re done with him, and the sight of John’s bloody nose makes you guilty and satisfied and guilty guilty guilty.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rose snaps. You jerk, your stomach twisting anxiously before you realize that she’s … not looking at you. She’s got John by the shirt and is shoving him back and back, all relentless fingertips and righteous anger. John looks startled, his eyes wide and blue and not framed by his glasses for once. He opens his mouth to retort and-

There’s a cool hand at the side of your face, and the thread of John and Rose’s conversation is lost to you. You let Jade turn your head, slowly, like you’re lost and need all the guidance in the world, and you can’t stand the sight of her worried eyes. You drop your gaze to the floor. Slowly, Jade’s arms encircle you and she is warm and soft and not John and you are getting your blood on her, but it’s worth it to collapse into her, to trust that she’ll hold you up right now, when you need it most.

You’re there for a few, shuddering breaths, heart thrumming loud in your ears, before Jade grasps your elbow firmly and pulls you out, down the hallway to her room instead of yours, where she directs you to sit on the edge of the bathtub and fixes up some of the scrapes and bruises you’ve gotten.

You look up at Jade as she dabs at the edge of a contusion with a cotton ball. She notices your resumed attention and offers you a small, sympathetic smile. “Hey.”

You open your mouth and wince, a line of pain alerting you to a split in your lip. You touch your tongue to it. After a moment, you shake yourself and refocus on Jade again. “Sorry, Harley.”

“There isn’t anything to be sorry for,” she says, kindly, too kindly, and your eyes burn. You’re not ready for pity or anything like that. You don’t need it.

So you stand up, pushing Jade back gently as you hear the door to the main room open.

“I’m going to go smoke,” you announce to the room at large, and you brush past Jade and any of Jade’s protestations to go out onto the balcony, flick on your lighter, and light a cigarette. You play with the lighter in your hands. You breathe in, pause, breathe out, the burn of nicotine settling the anxious flutter below your sternum that’s become so constant over the last few weeks. Behind you, the door opens, closes.

Rose steps up beside you, leaning over the railing of her balcony gracefully. “Alright, Dave. Do you want to tell me what the hell that was in there?”

“Not really, no.” You suck in some more smoke. Exhale. Try to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking and bleeding and you just spent the last half hour beating the shit out of your best bro/boyfriend/whatever John is to you right now out and you love him and you shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t.

You don’t.

(You do.

You’re confused.)

Rose stares at you, making you feel uncomfortably like you’re being turned inside out. But eventually, she just sighs and steals your cigarette, taking a pull of it before pitching it over the edge of her balcony. You watch it go, the ember a bright orange spot in the blue twilight.

“Perhaps you might want to rethink that, brother mine? Talking apparently does wonders for people’s stress levels, and then you might be able to kick this awful habit.”

The cigarette hits the ground and scatters.

You grin wryly, studiously not looking at her, instead inspecting the pavement far below for any sign of your cigarette. “Yeah, sure, then who are you going to bum cigs off of, sis?”

Moodily, you turn your gaze up to stare over the city skyline, wishing the lights there would form some sort of answer as to what the hell you’re going to do with him. Maybe you could get your own “ _remember who you are_ ” scene with the floating sea of dots, but nothing comes forth. No magical answer appears, nothing that can make your life easier.

“Have you…” and you swallow, rough and exposed and hating it. You try to figure out what you want to say, and come up with nothing clear or coherent. “Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you just did one thing differently?”

Rose is quiet beside you, but eventually, she murmurs, “Yes. All the time. I wonder a great many things about how easily I could have missed or changed certain circumstances.”

Your mouth twists into a simulacrum of a smile. “Ever wonder how much happier those bastards in that particular set of events are? Because they didn’t have to go through the same things that we did and they didn’t have to fuck up as spectacularly as I always seem to manage? If I hadn’t-”

“If _you_ hadn’t?” Rose grabs you by the shoulder and forcibly turns you towards her; you refuse to raise your gaze, though, and you only catch your sister’ outraged glare out of the corner of your eyes. “I hope you are not implying that you alone are responsible for that entire mess of a relationship? Because it wasn’t your actions alone that-”

“If _I_ hadn’t _let_ him,” you bite out, overriding Rose into silence. Achingly slow, you meet her eyes, self-deprecation framing the lift and cut of your stance. “If I had stopped him from even wanting to, if I had fucking resisted. Being pity-fucked isn’t what I wanted, but I managed to delude myself into thinking that maybe if I just let him have everything he wanted, he’d turn to me one day and say, ‘yeah, you know what? This is it. I want you.’”

You let out a long breath, tapping on the railing of the patio. Rose reaches out and rubs the area between your shoulder blades, long and slow, nothing but a comfort, and you swallow. God, you were an idiot. Are an idiot. Finally, you continue, speaking quietly over the distant noise of cars below. “But no. I give him all of the firsts I had to give, and he just… fucks off to prance around with some girl and fucks me at the same time, and when I’ve decided I’m done, that’s when he’s ready for me. So here I am, smoking up a storm and he could care less and I..."

You love him, and you’re suddenly at a loss for any reason why.

You don’t say it, though, letting everything fall into silence. You think Rose gets it anyway.

Rose sighs roughly and pulls you into a hug. "I wish you had come to me when this started. I wish..."

You close your eyes. "Yeah, I know. We both wish, sis. Ain't nothin' new." But you're sure that you're both thinking of different things; Rose probably wishes that this had never started in the first place and you.... You just wish he had loved you back all along, and that's really all there is to it. That's all there's ever been.

"It's terrible," Rose murmurs.

Lifting your eyebrow, you hum, curious.

"Watching something happen that is only going to end badly and being unable to stop it or turn its course. Dave, you need to-"

You stop her. "Rose, I don't want to hear what I _need_ to do. I just want to smoke and ignore this for now and not talk to him for a while, okay? Maybe... I dunno, maybe we'll work this out eventually, but not now."

Rose sniffs and steps back, derision clear in her face. "No, given what just happened, I highly doubt anything fruitful would come of your discussion if you had it now. You would have better luck talking to a wall. In fact, I recommend talking to the wall more than I do talking to John, right now."

"I'm not fucking the wall with Fight Clubs rules attached to it. The wall and I, unlike John and I, have a very sincere and deep bond, okay, it has a gloryhole absolutely made for me and I make sure that it gets spruced up with some new fucking graffiti every time the seasons and fashions change, it's a very trusting relationship." By the end of your rambling, the sickly cast across Rose's face is mostly gone, replaced by a slight smile.

"Fight Club rules?"

"Rule one," you say wryly, "don't talk about fucking John. Rule two, don't talk about fucking John. Yeah, it's very Fight club. Only one person wins."

"So long as you do not go through a schizophrenic break."

"Hey, talk to him about that, he's the ringleader. He's the one with the whole dual personality because-" you cut yourself off, about to go somewhere with this train of thought that you're not entirely comfortable with.

Rose, however, follows your logic with the same speed you do and her mouth tightens again. “Because of his own inability to understand how he likes men, he has to create a separate personality to be with you?”

You nod. Absently, you finger the rest of your pack of cigarettes, but Rose pulls the entire box away from you. "Come inside, Dave. We have some new movies we can watch."

"Oh, sweet."

* * *

 

You stay there until Rose and Jade are falling asleep, until they’re slumped over and groggy when you stand up. You smooth Rose’s hair away from her forehead, press a gentle kiss to her skin, smile when all she does is murmur and turn over in her sleep. You contemplate staying there. It would be easy, you know, to just sink into their kindness and let it wash over you, but it also feels a bit too much like giving up. So instead, you make your quiet, quiet way out of the room, turning the door handle gently so it makes the barest click when you pull it open.

Rose and Jade sleep through the amber light spilling into their room. The door closes without a sound.

You let out a sigh.

Your head is cloudy with emotion, everything that’s happened too much for you to handle, and you’re not tired. You know you’re not. There’s no way you can sleep like this, with your mind circling like a vulture over the dead carcass of what used to be your relationship with John.

With a sigh, you look down the hallway towards your room. Kick your feet idly against the carpet. Well, if you want to leave, you have to head out that way anyway; the stairwell is right in front of your and John’s room. And sure there’s another stairway down the other hallway, but you want your jacket too, so either way, staying or going you have to end up down there, which feels like an inevitability that you’re not one hundred percent okay with.

Despite that, you begin your slow, shuffling way to your room. You pass a few people whose faces are familiar enough to you that you nod at them, wave your fingers in an approximation of a greeting, and you get back winces.

Your face.

That was a thing that happened.

You touch your hand to the split in your lip right as you get to your room. You stop in front of your door. Fuck, you have no idea where you should go. The idea of walking back in there… You reach out.

But you’re shaking.

Your hand is trembling wildly in the air with the beat of your heart, the pressure of your scabs and bruises, frantic and uncontrolled, and fuck, you’re scared. You’re _scared_ to go back into that room with John, because you love him and you don’t want to be walked on again but you know yourself. If you went in there right now, bruised lip and all, you know. He’d smile at you, tuck his thumbs into the space between your jeans and your hips, and draw you close with a whispered, insincere apology, and despite everything, you might let him.

Because that’s what’s happened every time before this, hasn’t it?

And you’re suddenly struggling for breath, struggling to keep it quiet as you lower your hands to your sides, clench them tightly. It would be easy. Familiar. You could let the discussion of this fall between your fingertips and John's skin again.

Your lip throbs with your pulse, a warm, bloodied line. You run your tongue against the split.

Yeah, no, fuck that.

Carefully, you turn around, take your measured steps to the stairwell, only the measure is getting faster and faster, shorter and shorter. You're stumbling down the stairs a moment later, almost tripping in your haste to get out, get out, get _out_.

Bursting into the open air is nothing short of a relief.

September wind rushes around you, faint with the scent of dead leaves as you heave it in for breath, and you don’t stop moving. You slow to a half-jog, but you’re still hurrying, moving away from the curl of anxious, static-y emotion knotting unpleasantly in your lungs.

Without any real cognizant decision, you make your way down to the parking garage, fumbling your keys out of your pocket with quick, jerky movements. You clamber into your beat up, piece of shit truck and turn the key in the ignition, tugging your seat belt over your shoulder with your teeth. _I should call the girls_ , you think distantly, _to let them know what’s happening, what’s going on, where I am or where I’m going,_ but it fades swiftly. They’re asleep anyway. Impatiently, you buckle yourself up and back out of the spot, barely checking to see if anyone is behind you. (It’s your lucky - _unlucky-_ day when there isn’t and you don’t end up hurting yourself or someone else.)

You start driving, shifting gears with a growl and squeal of your tires and with your foot probably less on the brakes than it needs to be. You have no idea where you want to end up, as long as it isn’t here and as long as no one (John) knows where you’re going. Not even you.

Actually, especially not you. You need to know least of all. You need to get out and _leave_.

The light in front of you turns yellow and you slam on the brake harder than you need to, only to feel guilty and breathless a moment after when the seatbelt cuts into your sternum, and ease up on it.

You probably shouldn’t be driving right now, but fuck, you can’t stay there. You absolutely cannot stay there, in that room, with Jonathan fucking Egbert staring at you with those guileless blue fucking eyes and that slow, terrible realization creeping over him. You can’t do it. The truck rumbles as it idles at the stoplight, violins and brass slipping sweetly from the speakers. John’s  favorite station. You growl, press the scan button because you’ll be fucked if you have anything _else_ remind you of him right now. Your foot slams on the gas as the light changes to green and you just. Keep going.

“ _-he President-“_

What the hell did you expect from John? You knew that you weren’t ever anything more than just a casual fuck-buddy to him. You let him do it, you let him fuck you and use you and leave. You saw where it was going and let it happen instead of just cutting ties and walking out like he did; hell, you sort of encouraged it, because if John fucked you, he could learn to love you, right?

“ _-like, ooh, baby baby-“_

You don’t know what you were hoping for.

Maybe you should have let him talk, but he had snapped enough over you, he had steamrolled over you that way so many times before, and you couldn’t stand to let him do it again.

Tears slide down your cheeks as you keep driving your piece of shit truck around, not paying attention to where you’re driving. You think you’re out on the interstate now. He never cared, did he? It was always about John and talking never occurred when _you_ wanted or needed it to, just when he did. That thought sends a spike of pain right into your heart and you convulse slightly, bowing over the steering wheel. God, no, of course he never cared.

If John cared, he would have answered the phone, right?

He wouldn’t have left in the first place.

He wouldn’t have done any of it.

“ _-oves like-“_

In everything you’ve ever seen that’s about friends falling in love, it’s either completely unrequited or eventually returned. And both somehow end up happily because on one hand, there are other fish in the sea, and on the other, fuck, you have what you want don’t you?

(You got what you wanted, didn’t you?)

Tires grind on gravel as you pull the car over on the side of the road, put it in park. You have no idea where you are, and you stopped being able to see the road a few minutes ago. There are no buildings around, no lights.

No one around to see.

You breathe in. Out, and your breath is shaking, you’re shaking uncontrollably, the effort of keeping your eyes open too much right now, and you stab the vague, red blur that you think is the scan radio button, faint strains of guitar and trumpet filling the cab of your truck.

A sob escapes your lips.

” _-Es pasión que atormenta-“_

Nobody ever mentions how fucking _terrifying_ falling in love with your best friend is.

You bow your head onto the steering wheel, and you can’t breathe, heels of your hands pressed into your eyes. The scanner button on your radio sticks and keeps skipping stations, static and pieces of music wheeling together as you fall apart, sobs wracking your body.

Never gave him what he wanted, huh? You gave him everything you had, and -

God fucking damn it.

* * *

 

An untold number of minutes later, you straighten slowly, lick your lips, wince at the touch of salt to your scrapes, but you don’t cry again. With unsteady hands, you start your truck again and coax it into a tight U-turn, and you drive with more of a clear destination in mind.

It’s late, late and dark when you pull into the parking lot, and there’s a light on inside the right room when you look for it, which is the only reason you don’t feel bad about sliding inside the dorms, walking up to the familiar-unfamiliar door, and rapping your knuckles against it.

It takes a few minutes, a few rounds of you knocking, before Karkat answers the door, the soft skin under his eyes purple from lack of sleep. You expect him to start yelling at you, demanding to know why you’re here so late at night, why you’ve been knocking for the past however many minutes, and you honestly don’t have an answer to give, which is why Karkat’s atypical silence and considering look is unnerving, but welcome. Until you remember what you probably look like. Abruptly, you shift your shoulders, hideously self-conscious about your red-rimmed eyes and scrubbed-raw cheeks and cut lip, trembling hands, breath shuddering in and out in gasping heaves that are not quite silent. But Karkat reaches out before your thoughts can spiral further.

Almost tenderly, Karkat pulls you inside, murmuring quietly, “Come on, Dave. Just come on.”

And you go without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a fun game called "Can you guess what year this is set in based on the songs played during Dave's radio scanning?"
> 
> Art for this chapter:
> 
> By Bina:  
> [The fight](http://binart.tumblr.com/post/30106658402/another-asshole-john-doodle-based-on-this-fic-by)  
> 


	7. Answers Found By Hook and Dot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your ears are ringing, from blood, from the force of her voice, from the indistinct sight of Dave being led out of your room, Jade’s arm wrapped tight around his back.
> 
> That didn’t exactly go how you expected it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to apologize for that blatant "It'll be up soon, promise" lie I gave you guys last time. A lot of shit happened, and that's why the chapter took so long! But I'll also take the time here to say this:
> 
> I'm not ever putting this on hiatus.
> 
> This fic will never be discontinued.
> 
> After I post this chapter, I only have three more before the end. Eight, Nine, and Ten are all there is that's left of Asshole!John that needs to be written. I know what happens in them. Trust me, I'm too invested to not post them, even if every single person who reads this decides that they hate it after this one. I've put a lot of myself and some situations I've seen happen and some situations I've been through into this. I'm not letting it be discontinued. It just might take me a while sometimes. I work a fulltime job, I'm writing other fics, I work on cosplay, and I'm also trying to put together something that I might be able to one day send to a publisher. There's a lot that takes up my time.
> 
> That said: Thank you all so, so much for sticking through this. I know how tough it is to look at an unfinished fic and see that it hasn't been updated in the last six months. I completely understand. So thank you for looking at it and coming back anyway.
> 
> OKAY SO CHAPTER SEVEN, HERE YOU ALL GO.
> 
> Chapter title from "Why So Looking Back" by The Most Serene Republic

“It’s not your business,” are the first words you think of in response to Rose, and even then, they don’t sound right. You keep your mouth shut.

You look at Rose, look over at Jade and -no, you look at Rose. You stare at her, focusing past the blurriness, trying to see her clearly as your heart slows down. Adrenaline slowly leaves your system, and you. Well, you shake in the aftermath, your anger, your hurt, everything leaving with the powerful rush. Someone moves. Jade, you think with eyes wide, though it’s difficult to tell without your glasses on, trying to make sense of all the blobs of color around you.

The door clicks shut.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rose asks you, voice emphatic, and it’s all you can do to turn your attention back, just blinking at her. Your ears are ringing, from blood, from the force of her voice, from the indistinct sight of Dave being led out of your room, Jade’s arm wrapped tight around his back.

That didn’t exactly go how you expected it to.

To be entirely fair, you’re not sure what you really expected, but a general “better” would have been a good start. Coupled with, just maybe, you and Dave regaining your equilibrium instead of… Ruining it, you suppose. You definitely failed, though. You taste blood in your mouth, touch your tongue to a split inside your cheek where Dave’s fist forced your teeth to cut the soft flesh.

Fingers grab your jaw, and Rose forces you to look down at her, her lips pressed into a flat, unhappy line. “John, I asked you a question,” she says tightly.

“Technically,” you say, a bit numb, a bit empty, a bit nothing at all, “you asked me two questions? And… I don’t. I don’t know. I mean, he punched me, but.”

“He punched you first.” It’s not quite a question, but you don’t know what it is.

You nod, and god, you’re so tired. You’re shaking with the effort of staying upright, and you tug away from Rose’s grip almost gently. She lets you go, watches you move to the couch where you sit down. You breathe in. It doesn’t seem like enough, so you suck in another breath, heavy and shaking before letting it go. The couch cushion shifts beside you. Rose, in your peripheral vision, kneels on the cushions.

Something touches your hand. Your glasses. Wincing as they brush your bruises, you put them on, allowing the room to refocus into real shapes instead of blurred masses. She reaches for you again, turning your head with much kinder touches this time.

Your cheek throbs with your pulse. It doesn’t hurt too much worse when she presses her fingers on it. Kind of numb. A deep, not-yet-realized ache. But Rose’s mouth ticks sideways into a frown so much like her brother’s that you close your eyes.

“I don’t want to talk right now, Rose,” you say, quiet.

Rose, to her credit, doesn’t even pretend like she wasn’t about to try and draw you into talking about what happened. She makes a near-inaudible tutting sound, her fingers darting up into a gentle caress through your hair. “I think you need to talk to someone. What better time than right now?”

You sigh, neither moving towards nor away from the touch. You feel so tired, but your heart is going crazy at the same time. You can’t think. “Any other time. Just. Please. Leave me alone.”

“We _need_ to talk,” Rose insists.

“Yeah, but not right now.” Rose still seems uncertain, so you crack open one eye, look at her with all the weariness you carry within you. “Please, not right now.”

She wavers for just a second before sighing. “At least let me get you an ice pack,” she mutters, and you let her have that much. You let her press an ice pack into your hand from some first aid kit that you barely remember getting with Dave a few years ago, and when she hovers, arms crossed tightly, you meet her steady gaze.

“Still don’t want to talk about it?” she asks.

You shake your head. As if your answer was really going to change that fast.

“Alright. I think you should, for what it’s worth. But if you want space...” Rose drags a hand through her hair, touches you briefly on the shoulder. “I’m going to make sure Dave is okay, alright? If you need anything…”

She leaves it hanging, as though she wants an answer, and you stay silent long enough that she only sighs, something short and sharp. She takes a couple of steps, bends over, drops something off at your desk. Then Rose turns on her heel and leaves, the door clicking shut behind her, and the sound of it is enough to force your lungs into drawing breath again. With an ice pack held tight against your cheek, you gnaw on your lower lip, worrying the bruised flesh there until it is painful-smooth and over-sensitive.

Shit, okay.

That happened.

All of that happened, and now you’re alone enough to even _begin_ processing it, so you stand, pace agitatedly around. Is Dave going to come back? Is he okay? He should be okay, since Jade has him, and Rose is going to go check on him, and.

Shakily, you sit down on your bed, pull off your glasses, flop back onto the mattress to stare at the familiar ceiling. Your mouth is dry. Your heart beats fast in your chest, loud and hot and completely sickening, and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe. Something here isn’t right. Something in that argument is making your skin crawl. Dave didn’t even listen to you! He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, and after you took your time and waited for him to be ready and waited and okay, yeah, so you ran away first. But at the beginning of the summer, you thought that was the best course of action. You needed time to think. And then you gave him space when you got back, just like he asked you to. You groan, rubbing your eyes with your free hand, wincing when you brush against the edge of a bruise. Fuck, so, maybe the space hadn’t been the greatest choice.

But Dave had always been talking about how he wanted space. Hadn’t he?

(Your justifications, seen now in the adrenalin-low light of your throbbing knuckles and ringing ears, seem so much paler and insubstantial than they had before.)

Even with all of that, though, there was no need for Rose to yell at you like she had, you think, petulant now that she isn’t here. Your chest still hurts from where she pushed you. Fury lit her eyes brighter than you’ve seen them before, and you sigh, gingerly roll onto your side. It was like the girls ganged up on you, immediately went to go take care of Dave when he was the one who punched you first. Which, really, makes the fight all his fault, not yours.

Your cheek aches deeply, and with every pulse of your heart, you can feel other bruises and sore spots all along your body. Fuck, Dave really had managed to get you pretty good. With a long sigh, you let yourself relax. Try to relax.

Slowly, you open your eyes, staring unseeingly at the far wall.

Okay, so the fight -really, if you’re going to be honest- had been your fault.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but you had just. Ugh, you just wanted to end this stupid cloud of avoidant bullshit that he’s been pulling with you since you got back to college. It’s been almost a month, and you’ve barely seen him at all, and almost never by himself. And you’ve tried to be patient and just wait, but for fuck’s sake, you both waited the entire summer. So you lost your patience this evening. That’s not such a bad thing, though. Is it?

Your body throbs especially hard, and you wince. Clearly, it was a bad thing.

“Alright,” you say to yourself, “so tomorrow, you’re gonna apologize to him. Because what you said wasn’t right, and you know it. You’re going to say that you’re sorry and offer to give him space again, or if he’s up for it, if he wants to get dinner with you. So you can talk to him. Without getting punched this time.”

Your voice trails off, swallowed to the brink in this empty room, leaving not even an echo behind. Orange light streaks through the blinks as cars pass by, flashing panoramic bars of light across the drab walls of your dorm room. Swallowing roughly, you turn back around. It’s easier to face the wall on this side, you reason. Your injured cheek isn’t against the pillow like this.

When you close your eyes, all you can see is the twist of a snarl on Dave’s face. The downcast press of him against Jade, his lip bleeding sluggishly, and you curl your hands into fists, feeling the imprint of his blood on your hands. Guilt and anger and a sick, sick helplessness curdles in your stomach.

God, you just keep fucking up, don’t you?

You can talk to him tomorrow. You can try again, you tell yourself.

Despite your silent reassurances, sleep does not come easily.

* * *

When you manage to drag yourself awake the next morning, the room is still empty.

You knew it was too much to hope that Dave would be waiting for you. Even so, some part of you wanted the easy solution (which, really, is kind of funny given how many times you’ve let the “easy solution” pass you by before) of Dave just… already being there. It would save you the trouble of trying to find him. Or trying to deal with classes while you have this hanging over your head.

You sit up, rubbing one hand down your face roughly. God, you still have classes. You have classes and homework that you need to get done, and you let your temper get hold of you yesterday after you spent an entire summer just trying to figure yourself out! What a mess you’ve made. Shaking your head, you push yourself off the bed, aching still from the fight, physically and mentally.

Something on your desk catches your eyes. You turn to see it clearer, pause. And you reach out, touch the dark lines of Dave’s broken sunglasses. A hot, tight curl of pain, purely emotional, lances through you. You swallow, rough, as your fingers pick up one of the many broken pieces of cold glass. You gave these to him. These shades were a gift from you to him years ago, before everything here happened, and the fact that he had kept wearing them during all the shit you’ve been pulling….

Part of you, seeing them lying there, realizes that maybe it had meant something.

There is no real time for mourning them, though.

You have places you have to be, work you have to get done. So you grab your bag, stuff your computer inside, and leave the shattered remnants of an old gift behind.

* * *

Classes are exactly as awful as you expected them to be. With the added awkwardness of having Lily in one of your classes (where you both avoid each other’s eyes and pretend like you weren’t ever dating), the fact that you’re spacing out and worrying about Dave doesn’t help your concentration. You’ll be lucky to remember anything that was said in any of those classes.

Thank god for online lecture notes.

But that can’t get you everything, and you are exhausted by the time you manage to make it back to your dorm. Where you slide your key into the lock, push open the door, and-

“Dave,” you say, startled.

He jerks. Papers spill from his hands, and he swears under his breath before kneeling down and beginning to shuffle them in order again. He straightens again, looks down. Then up at you. You fold your trembling fingers in towards your palms, something about the motion almost shy, ashamed. His bruises are stark and the scab on his lip looks swollen and painful. The sight of them makes your black eye ache in sympathy.

You wish you could hide it.

(You wish you could hide, period.)

But you breathe in, let the unease dissipate, and move into the room, dropping your bag closer to your bed. You’re going to apologize. That’s it. “Hey, dude, can we… talk? Just the two of us?” you add after a moment, looking over at the person hovering right behind Dave’s shoulder. Dave nods, but the guy’s mouth flattens, and he doesn’t move his gaze from you for a long moment. It almost seems like he’s ensuring that you know he’s not scared of you before he deliberately turns his attention toward Dave instead.

“Dave,” the shorter guys starts, but Dave cuts him off before he gets anything else out.

“It’s alright, Karkat. Just. Wait outside. You know I won’t keep you hanging for long, my main…” Dave trails off before he shakes his head. “You get it.”

Karkat - as Dave has identified him - rolls his eyes dramatically, overcompensating for the tense atmosphere in the room, and honestly? You don’t blame him. This is awkward as fuck, but at the same time, you itch for him to leave so you can try to talk to Dave again. _‘Get out, get out, get out,’_ circles around in your head over and over again, vicious and jealous. You clench your hands into your long sleeves to hold yourself back, worrying over the soft hemlines in your palms. Karkat murmurs something inaudible to you, something that makes Dave bend over, leaning easily into Karkat’s space. Dave passes Karkat the pile of paper he has, Karkat’s hand coming up to brush familiarly against Dave’s shoulder.

You can’t breathe.

But after a short, indecipherable look at you, Karkat leaves, the door closing slowly behind him.

The only sound between the two of you is the rattle of the air conditioning, white-noise and oppressive.

“Dave,” you start.

“So what-” he says at the same time.

You lapse into silence again, uncomfortable. Dave clears his throat first, gestures formlessly. “What did you want, John? I’m sort of… in the middle of packing.”

“...That’s kind of what I was gonna ask about, actually. Why… are you packing?”

“Don’t,” Dave says shortly. He half shrugs one shoulder, shaking his head. Everything about him is tense, from the line of his mouth to the way his fingers are clenched, almost white-knuckled. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. I’m not about to stay here with you anymore; not with everything that’s happened between us. I told you before. I’m done.”

“You really didn’t say anything like that before,” you protest. It sounds weak to your own ears. 

Dave levels you a stare. His eyes are stark, exposed now that he isn’t wearing the shades -the pieces of which, you remind yourself almost hysterically, are in your desk drawer beside you because _you broke them when you punched him in the face_ \- a clear dead-pan expression. “I thought me punching you sort of cleared that one up for you, actually.”

“Look, Dave, I just don’t want us to… I don’t want to leave it like that. It doesn’t feel good for me, and it can’t be feeling all that great for you either.” You step forward, careful and quiet. Everything is so precarious right now, like one stray squeak from the bottom of your shoe could send Dave scattering, running for the hills with you far behind in his wake. You reach out, ready to run your hand down his upper arm. Something tangible, you think. Grounding. “I’m sorry. For hurting you.”

Before you get there, Dave snorts. “Oh yeah, because you’re _so good_ at not hurting people.”

You jerk back, staring wide-eyed at Dave. His expression is tight; he turns away, jaw working silently, and it’s clear that he wants to say more, but he’s restraining himself to that one, bitten-off sentence. For a long moment, you aren’t sure what to say. Your mind is scattered into panicked pieces.

“Dude, what the hell. I’m just trying to say I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t respond. You move around him, get in his space, and you have to fight to hold his eyes, because he refuses to look at you. Reaching out, you put a hand on his shoulder. “Dave, come on, talk to me? Last night, yesterday, we didn’t really get a chance to-”

“Look, John, I really don’t want to talk to you about this. That’s what this is gonna boil down to. I don’t want to talk,” Dave says, and it’s quiet, almost resigned. A surrender where you had barely even known a fight was taking place.

“I just… wanted to apologize, geez.” You cross your arms and bat down the irritation that pulses through you. You came here to apologize (again), not pick a fight (again). Take a deep breath. “If you don’t want me to, then just. Whatever, that’s fine, but I’m still sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

Your head whips up.

Dave’s mouth is pulled in an unhappy line to the side, and with his head turned so you can see his profile, the extent of the bruising on his face is an eye-catching distraction. It’s an ugly thing, yellowing across his cheek and up in a blue-purple spread around the soft skin of his eye, and you clench your hands, feeling an echoing throb in your knuckles. Dave sighs. “I don’t. Care. You can be sorry as much as you like, but your apology is too little too late. And I don’t care. I don’t want to hear your apology or anything you have to say right now.”

You almost start to refute him, but then Dave rubs his face as the door to your room opens again, and you notice.

Tear tracks.

Your gut twists. Dave’s shoulders shake as he takes a trembling breath, and his face crumples into an expression that you can only describe as heartbreak.

“I love you. Or at least I did, and you repaid that by royally screwing me over, and this is me calling it quits. I can’t do this anymore.” Dave inhales harshly, a few more tears sliding down his cheeks. Karkat (when did Karkat slink back in?) gently touches his shoulder, and Dave leans into the contact in a way that makes your heart catch. His voice is barely a whisper as Dave pleads, “Just… leave me alone. Go screw with some other poor fuck for a change, alright?”

You don’t know what to say. Helplessly, you search Dave’s face for any sort of cue, anything you can work on to fix this, because fuck, this isn’t what you planned on at all.  You don’t know what to say or what to do. You don’t know anything. Nothing is filling your mind right now except the steady-white heartbeat of fear.

You reach out for him, shaking. “Dave…”

His expression shutters closed, the moment of vulnerability gone as Dave pulls himself away. Turning on his heel, Dave yanks the door open and storms out, and you can’t help but think that it looks like he’s running away. If there was something you could do, some way for you to express this sudden, terrifying void suffocating you from the inside, you would gladly, desperately do it.

Your gaze is suddenly arrested by a pair of calm gray eyes as Karkat steps forward. Karkat watches you, still waiting in the room instead of following Dave. There’s something meaningful in the solid, flat line of his brow, the direct stare he’s giving you, the heavy, dark smears of bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. You can’t decipher it. Your mouth works, silent, as you try to find something to say, some excuse to make, but nothing seems to measure up to the judgement in that stare.

Karkat sighs, a voiceless noise, looks over his shoulder at the point where Dave disappeared. “Look, you made a goddamned disaster of a mistake, hurting him and then running away like you did. I hope you fucking regret it,” he says, terrible and almost gentle in his bluntness, turning away. It’s like a suckerpunch to the gut. You struggle to pull yourself together, panic racing, razor-sharp and staticky, under your skin. “I don’t even know what he ever saw in you.”

The door closes behind him. Silence pervades your room and it’s deafening, and the unsteady rasp of your breaths isn’t doing anything to help. You can’t get enough oxygen.

“…I’m sorry.”

But it’s too late.

It’s always been too late. Just like it’s always been your fault. You can’t breathe right, like the air itself is choking you, heavy and hard, and you slowly let it bear you down to the floor. Crumpling there is easier than moving.

“…Dave, I’m so sorry.”

The words are swallowed up by the silence in the room.

And Dave's gone now.

Fuck, you’ve screwed up again, haven’t you? You only wanted to apologize, but maybe you shouldn’t have even tried that. You shouldn’t have pushed when Dave told you to stop. You’re an idiot. You should’ve waited. But you just wanted it done and over with.

You wanted your friend back.

(Why did you even start this in the first place?

You wanted to have a few good years with your friends, and here you are, fucking it all up.)

God, what a mess.

* * *

You pick yourself up. There isn’t time for you to just sit on the cold, tile floor and wait around. There’s things you have to do. Important things. Things like not looking at his bare desk and empty walls. Things like sitting down and working on your homework because anything, everything else is too much.  You bite the inside of your cheeks raw and you work on school.

The alternative is giving up, and that’s never really been a winning strategy with you.

* * *

The days pass.

Things after that are hideously awkward. Rose asks you to come to her when you’re ready to talk, because she isn’t about to wait around or badger you into talking before you’re ready. Jade doesn’t know quite what to say to you. And Dave, well.

You see him around.

It’s nothing remarkable, really. The campus you share isn’t large enough to make it impossible to run into each other occasionally, whether intentional or not. You manage to come across Dave accidentally plenty of times. Your reaction to seeing him is …

Well, it’s complicated.

Sometimes, you’ll be able to walk past with nothing more than an averted look. Sometimes, you hold your head up and you clench your jaw and you stride along the path as though you had never even seen him in the first place. Sometimes, you turn and walk away.

Sometimes, you stop.

You’re not able to look away, sometimes. Sometimes, you see him with Karkat again, and someone else, a guy you don’t recognize, a sandy blond guy who has his shoulder nudged firmly against Dave. He’s almost tucked up against him, leaning heavily while Dave is busy mussing up Karkat’s hair. Laughing. Dave is laughing, a wide smile cutting across his face, shadeless still, and even from the distance you’re at, you can hear his drawl, the familiar push of sarcasm and idle mockery.

Sometimes, that’s not enough to make you stop walking.

But sometimes, it is.

Those times, Dave looks stupidly happy. There are laugh lines around Dave’s face that you’re used to putting there, and you realize with a pang that you can’t remember the last time you actually made Dave smile. You watch them, these two strangers and Dave, as they make their way across the quad, paying enough attention to their surroundings to dodge the people they pass, but barely any more than that.

And then one time, Dave looks up at you.

His smile falters for a second, and that’s all you have time to see before you’re tearing your eyes away, caught and shamed. You turn, taking off at a brisk walk across the lawn of the campus. Two buildings between you and him, and you finally feel like you can stop walking so quickly, your legs trembling with unrealized tension. You lean against a half-wall to catch your breath, slowly lowering yourself to sit down, your head buried in your hands.

You can’t breathe.

“John?”

Your lungs feel like they’re about to cave in. You look up anyway, smile weakly at Jade and Rose, who is a few feet behind her. “Hey. Jade. Rose. Sorry, I uh. Hi.”

Jade lets out a little huff of breath, coming to sit on top of the wall beside you. Her knee brushes against your shoulder as she swings her feet idly. “What’s up, cuz? Haven’t really seen you for a while.”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with classes.”

It sounds false even to your own ears, and you pull yourself in tighter before you force yourself to relax. It’s Jade and Rose. They’re your friends. You have nothing to fear from them, but you find yourself withdrawing anyway.

Rose lowers herself to the ground on your other side. Her legs fold up elegantly below her, bright blue Converse sticking out, stark against the dull green-brown of the grass. You stare at them for lack of anything else to look at; meeting either of your friends’ gazes seems too hard at the moment. Doing anything other than staring seems too hard, honestly.

They let the quiet pervade for a while before Rose nudges you with her shoulder.

“How are you doing, John?” she asks gently.

You don’t know how to answer that. For a moment, you try to gather up anything else you can say, but you just have to give up. “I don’t really know.”

“Are you okay?”

Mutely, you shake your head.

Rose lets out a quiet sigh, and you dart a glance up to her face. She doesn’t seem exasperated. Just tired and uncertain. You understand that. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You should. You know you should talk about how you are and what you’re feeling. But what is there for you to say? The words get all tangled up in a mire of confusion and anger and heartache, because you messed up, and in trying to set it right, you messed up more. You don’t even know how much Dave’s told the girls about what happened to begin with.

There’s just too much to say, and you don’t know where to start.

Rose and Jade just let you work through it in silence, waiting patiently beside you as people and cars pass by. “Dave can probably tell you everything,” you say finally. “I mean, I bet you guys kind of already know most of it. Anything we were, we aren’t anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I tried to apologize. I said something I shouldn’t have. And Dave doesn’t want anything more to do with me.” You sigh, giving in to the urge to pull your knees up to your chest, laying your cheek against the unforgiving curve of your knee. 

Jade and Rose trade each other looks over your head. You just focus on the grass below you. It’s easier. Slowly, Jade says, “I don’t really think you’re that completely hopeless. Dave just needs some time, that’s all. You’re still friends, just. You’ve had a fight, that’s all.”

Hearing that should make you feel better, you realize with a numb kind of distance. It just makes you feel tired, tender in inexplicable ways. With a long sigh, you tilt your head up to the sky. Despite the warmth of the sun and the overall pleasantness of the day, you feel unaccountably cold.

“But how long of a break does he need?” you ask. “Two weeks? Forever? I’m not about to keep waiting on him forever. Just like he shouldn’t have to wait for me, right?”

They’re not able to answer you. Rose and Jade just lean in closer. Your skin is static and anxious noise, and you bite your lip until you taste copper because nothing makes sense anymore and you wish you could just go back in time and shut your own stupid mouth before you ruined everything.

* * *

Nearer to the end of October, things haven’t changed particularly for the better. They haven’t gotten worse, either, though, and that’s really all you suppose you can hope for. Jade and Rose both dance around the issue of your fight with Dave, trying to find a balance between you and him. You wish you knew what you could do to help, but it’s just a tough situation for them to be in.

(The sight of Dave still makes your breath catch in your throat.)

It’s a cold day outside, a light dusting of snow covering most surfaces. You’re sitting down outside after your last class of the day, your face turned up to the weak sunlight, letting the wet, cold air bite into your skin. A low, uncomfortable sort of helplessness has settled like so much dead weight in your bones. Something about this, though… The smell of wet concrete and dead leaves, plant matter and soil and ice, burning a chilled path down the back of your throat; it makes you feel a bit lighter.

It isn’t much, but you’re learning to take what victories you can get.

“Hey.”

Your head jerks down.

What little victory you had immediately sours.

Standing in front of you, one hand tucked in the pocket of his pants and posture slouched to the side, is Karkat. You blink, surprised, as he looks you up and down. There’s something in his eyes, something sad and dark and tired, something that makes your stomach twist heavily. “Can I talk to you?”

“If I said no, would you listen?” you ask, but you wave to the spot on the wall next to you anyway. Part of you is interested to know what he has to say. Morbidly so, since you know it probably isn’t going to be anything good.

Karkat shrugs. “Probably not.” He sits down, threads his fingers together in the wide space between his spread knees. He doesn’t say anything for a long, long while.

Finally getting fed up with the silence, you clear your throat. “Alright, fine. Why did you want to talk to me?”

“Because someone needs to, and it’s not going to be Dave right now.” Karkat sighs heavily, then looks at you instead of his hands. “What the _fuck_ were you even thinking?”

“ _Alright,_ yeah, that’s-. That’s about as much as I want to talk about this right now,” you say faux-brightly. “And I definitely don’t want to be talking about it with you. Your pass here has been revoked, leave.”

Karkat snorts, his mouth slanted inelegantly to the side. “What, scared that I’m gonna tell you shit you don’t want to hear?”

You scowl at him. “I’m not an idiot, Karkat. I don’t need you to tell me what I did; I already know that. I’m not going to talk to you about it. If I talk to anyone, it’s going to be Dave or the girls, since they, you know, were actually all involved. I barely even _know_ you.”

“Dude, no, fuck that, no, shut up. Listen to me. You wanna know where you went wrong, aside from starting this whole screwy situation to begin with?” You want to interject, “ _Not from you_ ,” but Karkat is already barreling on. “You disappeared on him. For three months. You dragged up your roots and made sure he couldn’t find you to try and talk, so for three months, all he had was word of mouth that you were even alive. And this is, I might remind you, after you fucked him,” and Karkat spits it out, harsh and intending to hurt.

It hits its mark. You flinch, breath coming faster (because more people know now, everyone knows now that you had sex with Dave, that you’re not-). You try and stymie the reaction, get yourself back under control. “Karkat, shut up, I don’t-”

Karkat continues without really waiting too long, though, and anger has no time to do more than flare at the forefront of your mind. “After you fucked him and told him that you loved him.”

Your stomach drops.

Your words dry up.

He watches for a bit, almost waiting to see if you’ll interrupt him again. You should get up. You should do something. When nothing comes, his mouth twists to the side. “You loved him enough to say it while drunk off your ass, and then you disappeared. Tell me, fuckwit, what part of that screams “Healthy relationship?” Hm? Maybe the part where you avoided all of his attempts to talk?” Karkat’s gaze is relentless, pinning you down to the spot, his dark, heavy brows drawn flat over his eyes. “He met you on your terms for so long, and you couldn’t be assed to meet him, just once, on his. That’s fucked up.”

“I don’t need or want to hear any of this from you,” you say, shaken. “I’m leaving.”

You haul yourself up, already half-turned to leave, but Karkat, Karkat, damn him, still isn’t done talking.

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” Karkat waves you aside, and god you hate him. “Point is, you made a mistake of epic proportions that you kept, for whatever reason, making repeatedly, and now that Dave’s calling you to task for it, you can’t even apologize correctly.”

“Dude, why are you even talking to me about this is if all you’re going to do is yell at me? I know. I already know what you’re telling me,” you finally break in, jaw tight, whirling back around. Karkat blinks once, like you’re slow on the uptake and he can’t believe it’s taking you this long to figure him out, before sighing. “I don’t need to hear it from Dave’s new best friend.”

“I’m talking to you about this, you oblivious canker sore, because someone needs to. Because someone needs to be solidly on Dave’s side of this disaster, and your other two friends are kind of caught in the middle. So I’m the angel on his shoulder and the devil on yours, I guess. Deal with it.” Karkat rubs the bridge of his nose, smooths his thumbs down the dark sweeps of the circles under his eyes in a gesture that seems a long-worn habit.

“You’re here to yell at me because…? What? Because Dave can’t? I’m not sure if you missed it, Karkat, but last time we tried talking, we got in a fistfight.” You make an aborted movement with your hands. You don’t know what you want to say. “Right now, this conversation is just burying me in deeper. Good job.”

“People aren’t always that simple, John. You’re a prime fucking example. I’ve heard a lot of shit about you. Almost none of it has been good-” and fuck, _fuck_ , that hurts, stabbing you right in the gut with a twist of pain “-but almost all of it has been desperately, heartrendingly lonely. The kind of pining shit that romantic daytime television _wishes_ it could pull off. You two were good friends,” Karkat says with a long, tired slope to his shoulders, “and it’s always worth trying to keep things like that together.”

His mouth ticks sideways, he finally breaks the eye contact he had with you, and you can’t help but think there is more there that he isn’t saying. You wait, nervous energy zinging up and down your body. Nothing more seems to be forthcoming.

In the end, there’s a long silence before Karkat shakes himself out of whatever funk he landed in. “Whatever. You’re a piece of shit and I don’t know why I’m bothering.”

 “Honestly, neither do I.” You run your hand over your face, drag it through your hair. “But, look, you’re here for Dave, not for me, so, really, I’m not going to keep talking about this to you. If Dave wants to know my side of things instead of yelling at me and _punching me in the face when I’m trying to apologize_ , then he can come to me himself instead of sending his guard dog to snoop for him.”

Jerking back as if stung, Karkat’s mouth slants to the side heavily. “I’m not here to-”

“Yeah yeah, like you weren’t going to tell Dave everything anyway, please. I know how friendships work when two people stop talking to each other. It’s nothing bad or wrong, really. I just. I don’t think I should be talking to _you_ about my problems.”

Karkat opens his mouth to refute that and you wave him off. He subsides with a mutter, then shakes his head and stands up. “Alright fine, if you don’t want to listen-”

“No, I don’t want to listen to someone who I don’t think has any right to talk to me about this whole situation. I want to talk to Dave, Rose, and Jade. You? Not at all. Not anymore, at least.” You lean back against the wall of the building, press your palms against sun-warmed stone, your eyes locked coolly on Karkat’s grey ones. He searches your eyes for something; you’re not sure what.

But then he shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Fine, then. If you don’t want to listen, I can’t fucking make you.”

“No, you can’t,” you say quietly, and Karkat almost turns back around. You can see it in the way he halts his steps, the quarter turn he makes towards you before he visibly shakes himself and stalks off.

After that, you really, really can’t sit still. Outrage at Karkat’s condescension drives your steps. How _dare_ he talk to you like that? He doesn’t know what’s going on. Not really.

Even though it was painfully clear that Dave had told Karkat pretty much everything.

God, Dave is probably telling everyone. You could be mad at him for that. You kind of are, actually, thinking about it. He knows… He knows how much you wanted to keep your relationship a secret. It was bad enough when Jade and Rose found out, and at least you know them too. Karkat? You don’t know him. Not really.

Your steps veer down a familiar path, body tight and aching. You don’t know what to think. You don’t know what to do. Dave can tell whoever he feels like. You can’t stop him.

You enter the music building, shaking off the damp chill and a couple of lingering clumps of snow on the mat right inside the entrance. There are ghostly, distant echoes of voices, too faint for you to even make out what language they are singing in, much less the words they’re saying. The tune is eerie, slightly sad, and you try to put it out of your mind as you make your way down the long sloping corridor to the lower practice rooms.

Your steps turn, and your heart beats an unsteady, sickly staccato in your chest. You are filled with a wordless need, a restless sort of unsettled that itches under your skin.

The last time you came down here was in spring semester. Before… everything. You suppose that in lieu of everything else that’s been going on, you let this place slide by as unimportant. But the smell of the practice rooms and the calm that the faint edge of dust and wood and paper brings settles heavily into your bones. With barely any thought at all, you let your feet guide you to a familiar corner room, and you’re relieved to find it completely empty. You close the door of the practice room behind you, and the silence that fills it is a physical presence, a familiar pressure on your ears.

The piano that sits in this practice room is still your favorite. It has the best mix of the mechanics of the keys and pedals, and for an upright piano its sound is surprisingly mellow without being muddled. Tracing a fond hand along the piano’s surface, you sit slowly, trying to draw a measure of peace from the piano in front of you.

You feel a phantom pressure of a gaze on your shoulders. Looking over your shoulder to check, you see nothing. No one in the chair in the corner of the room, no one looking in through the door. You shake yourself. Of course the room is empty other than you. No one is going to be waiting for you to play, camera resting in their hands. Your breath comes in, shaky, and you focus determinedly on opening the key’s cover, letting it fall back with a soft thunk of wood against wood.

You let your mind wander, the room deafeningly silent past the creaks of the bench as you shift. The sound of you breathing is a symphony in and of itself, and you arrange your hands on the keyboard to offer actual music instead. Your mind is a mess of white noise and half-formed thoughts; your fingers rest on the keys, press down.

_Lift, down._

For a while, as you move through the slow, melodic opening of the piece, your mind is blissfully occupied with the movements of your hands, how your tendons ache and stretch with disuse. Nothing else manages to seep in, and it is a welcome stillness in comparison to how tumultuous and unsettled you’ve been for the last few weeks.

_Down, trill, chord, chord._

_The grand build up to the glissando._

Like this, nothing is wrong.

Complicated chords and rhythms begin and pour under your fingertips, and it’s only when your index finger slides on the ivories just a little that you realize that tears are streaming down your face, dripping from your nose and chin onto the keys. You inhale, choke on it, a sob escaping you. Your hands tremble, fumbling the next few notes before you still, unsteady.

This is.

With a deep breath, you try again.

_One-two-three-four. One-two._

_One-two-three-and-four. Press, press, slip._

You toss your head, trying to dislodge the tears that are relentlessly blurring your vision only for your fingers to slip again. You are shaking like a leaf in the wind, and you can’t seem to focus enough to keep going.

This is the room you played for Dave in. This is the room that you expect to turn around after you get done and see him there with his camera in his lap, pretending to not enjoy what you just played. This is his song, the one that you always catch him listening to with the faintest smile on his face and heartbreak in his eyes and god, you are the worst. You used Dave, and you lost him when you were trying to fix it. And now you’ve probably ruined every chance you had to even stay his friend. You thought you had done something right by giving yourself time to think, giving Dave time away from you, but that was a mistake, had to be a mistake, because now he probably hates you.

Nothing is worth Dave hating you.

You are the absolute worst.

(The piano sounds out a discordant ring as you give up playing to fold your arms on it and sob quietly, alone and miserable in a too-silent room.)

* * *

You don’t talk to anyone for a while.

It takes you a few days to even notice this as anything strange.

You go to class, you do your homework, you sleep. You remember to eat. You smile at your classmates and their jokes, sure that somewhere in there, you’ll dredge up something genuine that will actually last longer than a few seconds. Something that won’t drop off your face and leave the muscles heavier than they had ever been before.

You’re fine.

Besides, you’re getting everything done, aren’t you? You have to be doing fine, since everything is getting done. You’ll worry when you stop being able to finish your homework, when you start missing classes.  But no, you study and work on your homework and listen to music and if you’re only doing that to fill the time because you don’t know how to talk to your friends anymore, that’s really your business.

 The realization comes on the cold tail-end of a November day, where you walk outside and are practically slapped in the face with the wind. It is damp and unpleasant and everything you used to want for an excuse to spend the whole day in bed with Dave. You close your eyes to the wind, to the thought itself. And it hurts; the thought of Dave hurts. Not for your argument, not for his attitude, but for what you lost. What you had. You had his smile, the absent speckling of the freckles across his nose and cheeks, the warm kisses you two traded. Your friendship.

God, you miss your friendship.

And of course, the fact that you’re still currently Not Speaking to Dave means that you’re also Not Really Talking to Rose either. Part of that is your own fault. Most of it, really. You’ve been so worried about having a conversations about everything that happened that you’ve started to let normal interactions with her fall to the wayside.

In one, really terrible swoop, you managed to completely cut off your friends from yourself.

You raise your face up to the wind, as cold and awful as it is, and breathe in, smelling the chill of the air, the wet earth and ice around you. It settles in you, filling your lungs and coating your throat, and you know what? _Fuck it_ , you think to yourself, opening your eyes again. Fuck it, they’re your friends too, god damn it.

You can talk to them if you feel like it. And right now, you really feel like talking to Rose.

* * *

You find them, the next day, in the cafeteria during lunch. Sure, you absolutely could have messaged Rose and asked her to meet you to talk, but. You really want to do this in person. It feels important. Like showing that you aren’t going to be defined by your fears anymore. Rose and Jade sit across from Dave at the table, and it takes you just a bit to square your shoulders, lift your head, and walk over.

You approach the table, pretend you don’t notice the way the conversation stutters and stops as you come closer. Pretend you don’t see Dave’s shoulders tense, the way he looks away from you. You clear your throat. Rose and Jade look up at you, both varying degrees of unreadable before Jade smiles, encouraging. “Um. Rose? Can I… talk to you?”

Rose’s implacable expression falters slightly, the sharp lines of her face softening with confusion then sudden realization. She blinks, cuts a glance over to Dave and Jade quickly before she looks back up at you. “What do you wish to talk about, John?”

“Uh.” You wince, rubbing the back of your neck. You ignore the fact that you are shaking, hard enough to feel. “Actually, I was gonna… ask to talk to you later, if that’s alright. Just the two of us. I really need to talk to you about stuff. That I don’t want to talk about here.”

“Stuff,” she repeats slowly.

“Yeah.”

You wait for a beat, two, while Rose plainly thinks it over, her fork tapping idly against the dining hall table. Then Rose nods, light hair shifting with the sharp motion. “Alright. Does seven o’clock work for you?”

Tension rushes out of you the same instant that Dave’s head whips around so he can stare at Rose. You try to ignore it, letting a smile slip across your face. “Seven is fine. My room or yours?”

Rose, however, isn’t even looking at you. She’s staring back at Dave, something hard and determined about her. “Yours, I think,” she says after a long moment. “My room isn’t your comfort zone. Especially not if we’re going to be talking about “stuff.””

“Awesome. Awesome, thanks, Rose,” you say with a smile. “That sounds great. See you then.”

“Yes, I will be there. Seven.”

You nod one last time, then turn on your heel and leave. That’s all you can do. You’re going to talk to her in two hours, and you’re going to pretend that you don’t hear Dave start in a vicious whisper-hiss, “Rose, what the _fuck_ ,-” right before you get out of hearing range. You nod to yourself and continue walking out of the cafeteria. Hold your head high. That’s all there is to it. In two hours, you’ll be talking to Rose. And hopefully, _something_ will come out of it.

* * *

 

“So how much of this do I need to go back over again?” you ask when Rose settles herself into the couch. You sit next to her, awkwardly clasping your hands together. “I’m sure Dave’s already told you most of it.”

You can tell she’s watching you in the blurred space your glasses don’t quite cover, and her head tilts a moment later. “Be that as it may, why don’t you tell me how it happened? From the start of your relationship to the finish.”

You wince, but open your mouth regardless to start at the very beginning. When it was uncomplicated and based just on your physical attraction to Dave. Though as you tell the story to Rose, you begin doubting yourself, echoing the silent disbelief in Rose’s eyes as well. Upon newer reflection, it’s more obvious that you were and are an oblivious idiot. Too concerned with your libido to realize what your feelings were. Until it was too late.

A few probing questions from Rose prove to you that yes, Dave has talked to her about this already, and that somehow makes it a bit easier to go over. You were right, earlier. Dave hasn’t glossed over much. It’s just. Missing your half. Snow has begun falling outside your window, white flakes lit up orange by the streetlamp outside. You watch them in lieu of looking anywhere else.

After a long moment of silence, the first in a while, Rose shifts, says, “Alright. I appreciate your honesty with me, John. Your next step, if you’re looking for advice, is to reflect a little bit. Find out how you feel about Dave.”

“I already know that,” you say, a bit too sharp, and Rose blinks at you. Your voice quiets for the next sentence, the words breaking slightly around the edges. “I love him, Rose, and I knew it when I ran away. I knew how _he_ felt about _me_ before that, and I …. used him. I knew how I felt, and how he felt, and I did it anyway. What kind of friend... what kind of _person_ does that make me?”

Rose leans back, head rising up as she follows your train of thought. “Not a very nice one,” she says, soft, gentle.

You close your eyes to it, tasting copper in your mouth. Because you agree. You know what you did. “Not a good person at all. So I left. And yeah, I should’ve talked to him before I left. Or at least, while I was gone. But I was scared that if I tried talking to him once, I wouldn’t be able to resist talking to him again, and then… I would just end up continuing the cycle.”

“You should have-”

Ugh, more _should have_ ’s. You shake your head tightly, cutting her off. “Rose, there’s a lot I should’ve done.”

“Yes. Yes, there was,” Rose says, and you lean your head back against the couch, sighing roughly. Your ceiling, blank and terrible, stares you down as you scowl up at it.

“It’s just too late to do any of it now,” you try to explain. You lift your hands in an aborted motion, then look over at Rose, whose deeply violet eyes are already watching you. “What’s done is done.  I can think about where I messed up as much as I like, but I can’t change what’s already happened. And I don’t think that me sitting here and thinking about it anymore is going to help me.”

Rose’s foot taps on the tile floor, a sharp rapping noise. “Alright, what would you define as the main point where you messed up?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Uh, well, I had a relationship with Dave.”

“And what was so bad about that?” she asks, cocking her head curiously. Her light hair falls into her eyes, and she brushes it back without taking her eyes off of you.

You’re not sure what she wants you to say. You take a moment, thinking, but you just run yourself in circles. “...All of it?”

Rose looks frustrated, her fingers curled tightly in her lap. “So you don’t approve of the whole relationship and you should’ve never done it.”

“I shouldn’t have! I hurt Dave. I hurt him a lot, and I’m not happy with myself,” you say, throwing your hands up in the air. “If we’re trying to figure out what I should make sure I don’t ever do again, then that’s it. I shouldn’t be in a relationship with him. Goal accomplished. Right now, we’re not even friends.”

“So you regret it.”

“I…” and you mean to continue that with an agreement. Of course you regret a thing that hurts Dave. Of course you do; you don’t like hurting him, after all. But at the same time, you can’t quite bring yourself to say that because it’s… not quite true. Your face screws up. “I…”

“Let me put it to you another way. If you had the choice to go back in time and fix it, would you make it so you never got into your relationship with Dave at all, or would you make it so you understood that it was an actual, real relationship instead of a farce?”

You....

You fidget with your hands, twisting your fingers around each other.

Rose waits patiently for you to get your thoughts together, her gaze heavy without being accusatory. “I don’t think I was ready for that,” you admit. “I think I would just try to stay with him instead. Maybe. But the best way to not hurt him would’ve been for us to not get together. So there wouldn’t have been a misunderstanding to begin with. I dunno, it’s hard for me to put in words. I just always expected myself to be normal, you know?”

“There’s nothing abnormal about being interested in guys, John.”

You make a noncommittal noise at that and look away. “Yeah, maybe not for you.”

There is a sudden stillness, a lack of noise that at first strikes you as nothing unusual.

“Given that I am interested in women and currently dating a woman, I believe I have a deeper understanding of your situation than you are giving me credit for,” Rose says icily.

You blink. Look over at her.

Rose stares back, her mouth a pressed thin, angry line, and her hands are clenched tightly in her lap, white-knuckled and tense.

“You have a girlfriend? Since when?” you ask, shocked. Whoops. Good job, John. Foot right in mouth.

“Since New Year’s, when she came to visit me and we agreed to make it official, that’s when,” she says, terse and unhappy, and fuck, you’ve really stepped in it now.

“I had no idea. Rose, I didn’t-”

Rose interrupts, “Yes, I am aware. I know you didn’t know. Nor did you care enough to find out, and given your reaction to your own homosexual relationship, you’ll forgive me for not having the most positive outlook on how you would react to mine, so I did not volunteer the information either.”

You flinch back from that. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have been rude or negative towards Rose. What she does is her own business, and you just want her to be happy. But she expected you to be. She had been afraid you would have been mean. “I don’t think you’re not normal, Rose,” you try, and she cuts you off before you get too much further.

“Normal isn’t the question. Normal is something everyone talks about but no one is, and my reasons for being abnormal have nothing to do with my sexuality. Or yours. It’s natural, and I can’t -and don’t _want_ to- change it.”

What?

You hold up your hands, not sure exactly when this conversation went so far off the rails. “I never said you had to!”

“No, only that you always thought you were ‘normal,’ where really, you just meant straight. And now you’re backpedaling to make yourself sound like less of an asshole. It’s really, really not working.” Rose stands up, pivoting on her heel to glare at you. “Here’s my advice to you, John. Admit that you’re bisexual and interested in guys, not just girls. Admit that your relationship with Dave is never going to be the same again, no matter what you do, and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. But most importantly, get your head out of your ass. Your problems aren’t just yours alone. They affected us all.

“I know that you’re trying. But if this is all you’ve realized after months of sitting on it? You need to stop thinking yourself in circles and actually _try_ to change what’s wrong instead of feeling sorry for yourself.” Rose shakes her head, moves towards the door, and out.

What the hell?

You stare after her.

That could’ve gone better.

With a quiet sigh, you take off your glasses, let your head fall into your hands. The air around you feels cold despite the heater as you breathe it in, and you try to not let yourself think about how much you’re shaking, how your voice dried up in the face of Rose’s anger. She misunderstood what you were trying to say.

But you can’t help thinking that it didn’t make her wrong.

* * *

“John!”

You stop and turn as you’re exiting the classroom, looking back over your shoulder at Doctor Smith. He waves you over, passes you a sheet of paper when you approach. “John, don’t forget to get this filled out and submitted. Also, if you need help looking at your options after you graduate, don’t hesitate to come talk to me. We can go over internships, job applications, grad school, whatever you want.”

You take the proffered paper with numb hands. Looking down, you read “Declaration of Intent to Graduate” before you snap your eyes up to meet Doctor Smith’s again.

That’s right.

You’re a senior.

You’re only going to be here another few months and then….

Then?

Oh god.

Okay, you need to do something before Doctor Smith thinks you’re passing out or dead or something.

Mechanically, you smile, because he’s watching you now with slight concern, his brows drawing down over blue eyes. “Yeah, yeah, sorry Doctor Smith. I had kind of. Forgotten about this. No big deal, though, I’ll get it turned in tomorrow. Thanks for the reminder!”

“You’re welcome, John. If you need any help with anything, my door is always open.” He claps you on the shoulder, and that seems to be it.

You leave the biology hall feeling a bit weak-kneed. Your future is coming up with a speed that alarms and distresses you. You have no idea what you’re going to do. What happens once you leave the structure of school? What the hell do you even do? Technically, you could continue to go to school, but you could also try and find a job, or…

You take an unsteady breath. Put it out of your mind. You don’t have time for this right now.

When you get back to your room, you fill out the paperwork, feeling like the world is off-kilter and strange. It’s easy enough to slide the paperwork into Doctor Smith’s mail slot the next day, and you walk away with a burgeoning sense of worry lingering at the back of your mind.

* * *

The second round of testing comes with a storm, flurries of snow locking your muscles up as you trudge through the slush and mess to your classes. You take to carrying your own mug of something hot with you, just to keep your fingers from freezing. It works at least on your way  _to_ classes, but you don’t exactly have time to make something new in the ten minutes you have to jog between classrooms.

Thanksgiving comes and goes almost unnoticed by you, except for the lack of classes and people.

You don’t go to Rose’s with everyone this year.

Rose and Jade insist that you are still welcome. You believe them. Rose wouldn’t just say that. But you can’t imagine sitting in a car for eleven hours, unease and awkwardness sapping all the strength from you, choking you as you try to think of ways to push past them. Dave, sitting there, not talking to you again. Not looking at you.

Instead you stay in the deserted dorms and try to not rattle around the too-large space.

If you weren’t so tired, you would care about that more than you do, but as it is, you are so, so tired.

(It’s hard to believe that only last year, you were toppling Dave into the snow at Rose’s house and holding yourself back from kissing him where everyone could see. You’re not sure what changed, but you like to think that if you got the opportunity again, you’d just go ahead and kiss him anyway. You’re unfamiliar in your own skin, warring between the still-too-familiar panicked frizzle of “Everyone knows” and the heavy realization of “No one cares.” You were a coward. You should have just kissed him.

You never should have stopped.)

* * *

Rose and Jade both come to spend some time with you on their own birthdays, but nobody else comes with them. You don’t go anywhere as a group this year. Their birthdays pass with no incident, with Dave’s presents still sitting in your room. You don’t know what to do with them.

You hang onto them for now. Christmas might just be a better time for it.

* * *

The door opens. You roll over to greet whichever of the girls it is, only to be met with blond hair and a pair of sunglasses. The greeting that was on your lips dries up without a sound.

You blink, half-sure that you’re just seeing things. But Dave looks just as surprised as you feel. As much as he can really look surprised with his eyes covered by a new pair of sunglasses anyway. Where did he get the shades? They’re not the aviators that you know Dave typically favors.

(They’re not the ones you got him. But, then again, of course they’re not. They couldn’t be.)

Dave ducks his head, finally breaking the tableau you had sustained, moving over to his half of the room. He digs for a moment in the desk that’s still on his side of the room before pulling something out of one of the drawers.

You hadn’t known he had left anything behind.

“Sorry,” he says without turning towards you, and your chest clenches, your breath stopping suddenly. His voice alone shouldn’t be able to affect you like this, but. “Sorry, I forgot that. I had left this here. Yeah.”

With that short, and completely unenlightening, explanation out of the way, Dave practically bolts out, making for the door like getting his hand on the knob is the only way he can survive.

You open your mouth.

“Hey, um, Dave?”

He stops short, turns his head just enough to let you know that he’s listening, and you swallow, gnaw, uncertain, on the inside of your cheek.

“Just. Wanted to say good luck. On your finals.”

That much, at least, makes Dave turn all the way around, and he regards you through an unfamiliar pair of sunglasses, the smoked glass translucent enough that you can see his features through them. The moment lasts for long heartbeats before his tongue flicks out, wetting and drawing his lower lip back behind his teeth. There’s another pause, where Dave looks like he’s trying to think of something to say. Then he sighs, nods. “Yeah,” he says. “You too, John. Um. Good luck to you too. See you later.”

“Yeah,” you echo, and.

That’s it.

Dave nods, leaves, and the door clicks shut behind him.

That was it.

You curl your legs up to your chest, wrap your arms around them, feeling scraped raw and alone and somehow, below it all, nothing at all.

The hours pass, light fading from your surroundings until there is nothing illuminating your room except for the soft, blue glow of your laptop, which you focus on to the exclusion of everything else. So the sudden introduction of yellow halogen light flooding your room in a thin band, swiftly followed by the blinding flash of the overhead lights turning on comes as an unwelcome surprise.

You blink, squinting past the aching of your eyes to see the outline of-

Who is standing just inside your doorway, hands on her hips and considering expression on her face. You squash the twist of disappointment in your chest, shaking it off to something else. “Hey, Jade. What’s up?”

“Not much. Do you wanna talk about it?”

You look up at Jade, confused, and she snorts, hopping up on the bed with you. “Don’t look so baffled. I’m talking about Dave. He was just in our room like, ten minutes ago, and I thought I’d come talk to you, since, well. You kinda screwed up that whole conversation with Rose, so she’s still a bit upset. And clearly, you can’t exactly talk to him about it, so I’m here to be the -.”

Holding up a hand, you try to keep your voice level, but you’re pretty sure it comes out a lot harder than you intend. “No. No, I don’t want to talk about anything. Everything’s great, and I don’t want to talk to anyone about it.”

Jade snorts, rolling her eyes at you. “Bullshit, dude. Don’t pull that with me.”

“Look, Jade, trust me, nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

“Uh-huh, and that’s why Dave was over there being really upset, right?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe that’s just because he’s been upset with me the whole semester? I didn’t think trying to apologize or trying to figure out what I’m feeling was such a bad thing, I’m so sorry,” you say, and this time, you can’t ignore the sarcastic bite your words get towards the end of your sentence.

“Well, it is when you’re a douche about it,” Jade snaps back. You twitch as Jade flips her hair over her shoulder, scowling. “Why were you trying to apologize? Because it’s the right thing to do or because you thought you needed to in order to get back into Dave’s pants?”

“Jade, that’s not-”

“I think you already know _how_ you feel about him. You don’t need anyone to tell you.”

“No, I just need everyone else to _shut up_!” you shout, and Jade’s mouth shuts with a click of teeth. “I’ve heard so much from everyone about what I “should do” or what I “need to do,” but the problem is that no one knows what the fuck they’re talking about! Yeah, I asked Rose for help, and I fucked it up, as you pointed out, because I didn’t know she was already pissed at me for things that had nothing to do with what I was asking for her help me with. Karkat stuck his fat head into my business too, and the only stuff he knows about me is from Dave. So that was real objective there. Good job. You? You’re not even listening to me. No one is.”

“You know what? I don’t know why I’m bothering, honestly.” Jade shoves herself off the bed, rattling the bed frame against the wall.

You cover your face with your hand and sigh roughly, digging down for that well of patience you know you have even as guilt swarms up over the loss of your temper. “Jade, Jade, no, I’m. Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you. I just. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

“Well yeah,” she says, and honestly, it’s a bit relieving to just have her agree with you, despite the slight sting. You lower your hand from your face, and she’s standing at the foot of your bed, regarding you with a frankly assessing gaze. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.”

“Probably not. But I’m tired of talking about it.” You lean forward, scrubbing at the back of your head hard. “I’m so tired of hearing other people tell me how I should feel and what I should do.”

“Yeah.” Jade sighs. She hops back up and pushes her shoulder against yours. “Yeah, I bet you are. Sorry. I didn’t think about it like that.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Didn’t mean I had to do it.”

“Everyone has to get their say in,” you mumble, but Jade casts her arm around your shoulders, draws you into a hug, and you just lower your head and accept the apology as it stands. “I don’t know what else I can even say to him. I’m just trying to give him space.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Then why does everyone think that the next move is up to me?” you ask, muffled slightly. “I keep screwing it up.”

Jade lets out a long breath. “Waiting too long isn’t a good move either, John.”

“I know. I just don’t know what else to do.”

“Yeah.” Jade squeezes you close. “Yeah. Me either.”

* * *

You lean back in your chair, let out a heavy sigh. With careful fingertips, you rub at your eyes, the skin there feeling thin and tender, bruise-able. Finals week is done. You’re amazed that you managed to focus on your tests as much as you did, honestly, with how tough it is for you to pull your head together. You haven’t had much of anything else to do, though.

(Except in long, dark moments, where you sit and think about the same things you have since you left for Washington at the beginning of summer. But those are really neither here nor there.

You’re done with talking about it.)

You look across the room.

So far, Dave hasn’t come back again.

That one time was it.

Officially, he’s still there. His name is still up on the door, he’s still assigned to the room. But despite the emptiness, despite how long it’s been, his presence is still felt, sore and aching. A gap in your teeth where you keep tonguing the exposed gums. You’ve ended up staring at his barren half of the room more often than you’d like, knees pulled against your chest, and your mind buzzes with all of the things you could have said.

He is more than an experiment to you, he’s _Dave,_ for crying out loud. How could he be anything less than important? You love him. Loved him.

It’s all messed up in your head and you give up on figuring it out until a few days have passed and you’re going home to stay with your dad until January. He’ll probably be able to tell that something is the matter, but…. You curl over yourself, aching with homesickness, and you just want to be away from the place where you’ve screwed up so much.

But knowing how you felt over the summer, going home isn’t going to really help that.

Straightening, you pack in silence, even the familiar strains of your favorite songs too much to handle right now.

* * *

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 21:43 --

EB: hey, jade.   
GG: wassup, john?  
EB: are you and rose still giving me a ride to the airport tomorrow, or should i find another way there?  
GG: ...  
GG: john, were still giving you a ride, duh! were not about to just leave you here all by yourself! 8P  
GG: what kind of cousin would that make me?  
EB: one who was still sort of upset at me? i dunno, jade, i just wanted to make sure.  
GG: im not mad at you, you doofus. 8\  
GG: look, well talk about it more when we get home, alright? itll be alright!!! 8D  
EB: if you say so.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 21:43 --

* * *

It’s sickening early morning, cold and awful in the way that mornings before travel always are, and you clatter down the stairs of the dorm to find the girls already waiting for you beside Rose’s van.

Rose and Jade both don’t look at you. Though you can take a sort of solace because Jade, at least, isn’t looking at you because really, she’s not looking at much of anything. She’s just squinting in varying levels of disgust at the snow-covered landscape, hands shoved deep in her flannel pajama pockets, and really, you’re not about to fault her for that.

“Hey guys,” you offer quietly. Your hand is tucked into the belly pocket of your soft blue hoodie, and you curl it into a fist where they can’t see, nails biting hard into your skin. “I guess Dave is getting a ride from someone else?”

That, at least, gets Rose to glance at you, her mouth ticking to the side. You can’t tell if it’s a reaction to you or a reaction to Dave’s avoidance of you. It’s hard to tell, though you’re willing to bet it’s at you. Finally, though, she answers. “Yes. Karkat is meeting me closer to my home in New York, and Dave will join me there.”

You want to ask if he’s going to New York with Rose or if he’s finding his way down to Texas first, but you hold that question back. It’s enough that you know he’s mostly alright. “Alright,” you say. “Alright.”

* * *

On the flight home, Jade falls asleep on your shoulder, and you turn your cheek into her warm hair, holding onto that single point of contact fiercely. You do not sleep. Instead, your mind travels backwards, across the many miles to where Dave is.

You wonder how he’s doing.

* * *

You run a hand up the back of your head, feeling the short blond hair rasp against your palm. The look is new, a product of Rose dragging you out to get your shaggy mop of hair cut, and you’re honestly not used to your ears feeling this exposed, especially not in the cold of New York. The undercut looks nice on you, though, and you feel a bit better without all of that hair flopping around every time you move your head.

It’s a change. A good one, you think, though the jury’s out on that until you’ve gotten over just how new it feels.

New is good, you think. New isn’t the tense silence that you and Rose have had going on since before Winter Break. New isn’t the stares or pointed advice about how you should talk to John. New is your haircut. New is the shades that Karkat pressed into your hands with an embarrassed “Cover your eyes, Strider, this is getting indecent.”

New is....

(And you don’t always like it. The hair, that’s fine, but the shades? The silences? You don’t like it at all.)

This isn’t what you expected from spending the whole Christmas break with Rose and her mom, but it’s a good change from the humid, miserable, snowless expanse that is Houston during December. At least up here, you can put on clothes that can actually stop the chill from seeping right through them. Texas during winter still isn’t comfortable, despite many people’s claims to the contrary.

You’ll take almost anywhere else during the summer though.

Which, really, isn’t the point, because you’re just distracting yourself from the weirdness between you and Rose. And you and John.

You let out a long sigh.

You still don’t know what to do about him, honestly. You cut your ties. You should be done with it. For a while there, you were. You were hanging out with Karkat and Sollux, and Rose and Jade, and sure, you saw John around a couple of times. You habitually look for dark hair and bright blue eyes; two year old habits are hard to kick as it turns out. But even with all of that, you had finally gotten past the hopeless, crushed feeling in your chest. You had your friends. John didn’t bother you.

But as time went on, you ended up feeling the lack of his presence more and more.

Karkat is great, but he’s not John. You’re able to be honest with a lot of stuff about yourself around Karkat that you were always a bit uncertain about sharing with John, but.

John is your friend.

John is one of your closest friends. All events aside, you care about him. And he actually listened to you. Maybe a bit too late, but for fuck’s sake, you sort of want to talk to him again. Maybe see if he wants to be friends again.

(Or more than that, your traitorous heart suggests, because it, unlike the rest of you, has no qualms with you remembering how John kissed you, what the sight of his smile used to do to you, the feeling of his body over yours, his hand in your hand. You quell those thoughts as viciously as you can. Which probably isn’t all that vicious.)

Sighing, you head out of the bathroom and begin your trek upstairs to the room you’ve been staying in. You can think some more up there, probably.

There’s a crash from the kitchen, and you jolt in the middle of taking a step up the stairs. Carefully, you retreat, padding silently back down. Bro and Mom Lalonde have disappeared off somewhere, so whatever that noise is probably isn’t them. You lean around the banister, curious to see, and that’s when you spot Rose.

Who is staring down at the spilled glass of what looks like orange juice with an expression of distress. She looks between it and the roll of paper towels on the countertop, but just slowly sits down instead of trying to clean it up. Rose manages to get the dropped glass back in her hands, and pours herself something out of a bottle that you hadn’t noticed yet.

You move into the kitchen, Rose flinching as you do. Wordlessly, you clean up the spilled juice before turning to your sister, who isn’t looking at you, who is clutching the cup in her hands with tight fingers. You kneel down next to her. You want to reach out and touch her, smooth her hair back from her face, but you feel oddly tentative of your welcome, and that stays your hands. Instead, you ask, “Have you been drinking?”

It’s a long, long moment before Rose lets out a shuddering breath, and nods. “Yeah.”

“...How _much_ have you been drinking?” you ask quietly.

She swirls her drink, staring down at the last dregs of the clear liquid. “Probably more than I should.”

You let that sit between the two of you, jittery and uncertain. You feel like you should do something, but you don’t know what. There’s an air to this conversation that isn’t comfortable, that’s clogging your senses, crawling along your skin.

“Rose, are you okay?”

“If you had pulled your head out of your ass for a few minutes,” Rose snaps, then takes another drink, not finishing the sentence. She continues after a moment, setting the glass on the floor, voice roughened. “You’re the reason for my descent into early alcoholism. My girlfriend says thank you for that, by the way.”

You blink. “Your what?”

Snorting out an ugly burst of laughter, Rose lets her head fall back against the wall. “Didn’t even know about that, did you? Couldn’t care? Nooo, Dave Strider, too wound up in his high school game of Russian Roulette, homosexual repression edition, to wonder about his sister and why she’s been acting weird. Er. Weirder.”

“Wait just a second, Rose.” You lower yourself fully down onto the floor next to her, subtly moving her glass away. “Descent into alcoholism?”

She makes a face, scrunching her nose up. “Well, that might be a tad bit of an exaggeration. But my point still remains that you’re an insensitive ass who can’t even notice when I have a goddamned girlfriend.”

For a moment, you flounder about what to say because wow, you’re pretty sure you’re having two different conversations here. You scoot the glass a bit further again. “You never said anything.”

“Yes, I was keeping in with family tradition.” Rose swallows, looks around for her drink, and gives you an impressive glower when she notices that it’s just a bit too far for her to reach. But she subsides without a fuss. “Only, _my_ relationship is actually fine. There’s no reason for me to hide it, except for the fact that my brother and best friend both seem to be having some serious issues with their relationship and never ask me about anything. Or listen when they finally do.”

You wince. “I’m sorry, Rose, I was just…”

“Busy, yes I know. But that’s.” Stopping, Rose looks like she’s reconsidering what she’s saying, and when she starts up again, her voice is clearer than it was before. “It doesn’t change the way that coming second to your issues for two years made me feel. You were busy, rightfully so, but I would have appreciated you pulling your head out of your ass long enough for you to notice that, gee, Rose has been going on a number of dates recently. Maybe I should ask her if she’s seeing someone regularly.”

“You could have just told me, Rose.”

“Yes,” she says with a quiet, sad smile. “I could have. Perhaps that was my mistake. This is me telling you, by the way.”

“I’m… happy for you?”

“You don’t have to force yourself.”

“It’s not forced,” you say, hurt, and Rose lets out a long, long breath, nodding.

Things are silent between you for a long, long time before Rose claps her hands and pushes herself up, much steadier than her last attempt. She regards the glass on the floor for a long moment before she leans over and snags it too. “Alright, Dave. I’m sorry for misunderstanding you. But I am going to pour out the rest of this, get myself a glass of water, and call Kanaya. And probably go to bed. It will be late enough by the time I’m done.”

You stand as well, watching her uncertainly. Her balance seems steady enough, and you shrug to yourself. “Alright, sis. Just. I’m sorry too. For not asking how you were more often.”

She lifts a shoulder in something that isn’t quite a shrug. “Your foibles have never included willful negligence in regards to anything other than yourself, Dave.”

“Still sorry.”

That much at least gets a faint smile out of Rose, and she leans sideways to give you a hug before slowly making her way to the kitchen and then to her room.

You stare after her for untold minutes. Then, your steps heavy, you go to your room and lay down on your bed. Your thoughts are in turmoil; how much else have you missed by being too caught up in your own business to care? On one hand, you have to put yourself first. But on the other, they’re your friends too, and you’ve unloaded on them so much these last few months that it does seem really unfair that you haven’t asked them about practically anything to do with themselves.

Good fucking god, you need to step up your friend game.

“Yo,” calls a voice from the doorway. You roll over to see Bro leaning against the frame, backlit and stark against the bright hall lights, his arms crossed. “Fight with Rose?”

“Something like that.”

The bed creaks, and you register that he’s sitting down a moment before there’s a hand in your hair, carding through gently. He lets it sit, fingers stroking the area immediately around his hand, for a while. When he finally asks, his voice almost careful in how quiet it is. "So, I have this two-step plan of getting over assholes, right?"

"Mm."

"Wanna hear it?"

You quirk an eyebrow at him out of rote, though you're really only tired and playing along at this point. "Sure, dude. What's your master plan?"

"Simple. Step one, we get you tatted out. Step two, you fuck a stranger. End plan, end result, you're over him." Bro looks up at you over the rim of his pointed shades, his irises glinting orange in the fluorescent light. "Sound good?"

"If that's your plan to get over people, it explains so much about you, Bro."

"Shut it. What do you want as your first tat, little dude?"

Almost on a whim, you think of answering "The wind beneath my wings,” but you know that Bro would ask why and you're not up for trying to half-assedly defend your own bad decisions. But it's not a bad idea, turning it over and over again in your mind. Maybe not the words, but... like a pictorial representation. Wings over wind, perhaps.

You shake your head. No, you're not going to get something so related to John. You're determined. You want something that will show how you're getting over him, not remembering the thing that made your relationship crumble in the first place. "I'll figure it out on the way, man. Let's do this."

Bro grins at you, a bright flash of teeth in his tanned face. "Awright. C'mon, little dude, grab your coat. It's balls-ass cold outside."

* * *

The idea sticks.

You can't get it out of your head, no matter how hard you try, and even though you don't mean to, when the tattoo artist asks you what you want, it pours out of your mouth anyway.

You want this, you tell yourself, and you do with a fervor that disturbs you a little because you miss John and you miss what you had and you hate yourself for missing it. You’re done. It shouldn't matter. But it does. And you need this, you need to get it out because there were good parts in there. There was a lot of good, and you want to hold onto that despite the utter destruction that was the last of it.

Harsh buzzing fills the air.

Even if there are never any good parts again, you have to remember that there was once something there that you wanted to have and you would have done almost anything to keep.

The needle is set to your skin.

* * *

When you get home, Bro bustles you off to the bathroom, careful to not alert either Rose or her mom. You're willing to bet that they both know you're home, but Bro has his way of doing things, and sneaking around is just one of his many neuroses that you indulge him in.

He sits you down in a chair in front of the mirror and strips off your shirt. Bro touches your back with his cool hands, your skin sensitive to his fingertips brushing the raised lines of your new tattoo. “Seems fitting,” he mutters and you carefully keep your movements steady to belie the sudden stutter of your heart. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. He never would’ve let you get it if he knew. Bright orange scrawls across your skin when you look at it in the mirror, a tumultuous mess of blue beneath it and seeing it makes you feel strange and grateful because you should be over it.

Maybe this is how you’ll get there.

“Rising above him?” Bro asks

“Something like that,” you say, and you clench your hands tightly together as they shake, shake, shake in your lap. But Bro doesn’t catch it, doesn’t ask, just assumes he’s right and the moment passes. Self-consciously, you rub your shoulder, rolling the skin over your bones, and Bro keeps putting on the lotion with a few small hums, snatches of remixes and other things he’s probably working on.

You barely touch the jutting lines of the tattoo and sigh.

You miss him.

(You don’t hate him, though, and you think that might be worse. But it’s easier to accept with the tattoo stinging across your shoulders.)

"Surprised I could find a halfway decent tattoo parlor this far north, though."

"Bro, not every tattoo has to be done in the back of someone's trailer house with a needle and a ballpoint pen," you laugh, and Bro claps you on the shoulder, walking around to face you again. He has a faint smile on his face; you smile back, though part of you doesn't feel it at all.

"Only the best ones," he replies. You punch him in the side half-heartedly, pushing yourself out of the chair. "Now little dude, I don't have to go into all the shit you have to do to keep this thing safe, right?"

You roll your eyes behind your cheap sunglasses (and you want _yours_ back, but that's not going to happen, you know that). "Dude, I know enough from your own tattoos," ' _and from taking care of John's_ ,' you think, "to know how to do this. Wash it religiously for the first few days, moisturize it afterwards. Make sure it doesn't get soaked, don't let it get into extended direct sunlight for a few weeks."

"Good." He cracks his neck easily, then looks down at you again. "Alright. Ready for phase two, or do you wanna wait on that?"

You think about it.

You really, really do. You think about it, and then you remember what happened when you slept with that guy over summer break, and how the conversation that happened with Sollux afterwards did more for you than fucking a stranger did, and you swallow, look away. "I don’t think I’m really… up for that, so.”

Bro cocks his head, and you can see his measuring gaze behind the tint of his own shades before Bro just shrugs. “Sounds good to me. We can go straight to phase three, then.”

“I thought there were only two?”

Bro shrugs again, exaggerated.

“… Alright, Bro, what’s phase three?”

“Booze and regret.”

* * *

It’s hours and a few drinks and definitely some more soul-searching later when Bro has finally gotten the full story from your repetitious account of what happened with John, and he sits down with a clatter, sloshing both his drink and yours in your glasses. “You have not, I repeat, have  _not_ , fucked up. John has, and if he ever fucking thinks he’s welcome here again-”

“Then he’s probably right?” you say, the words tasting dead in your mouth as you reach out to grab the full cup from him. “Bro, I… I’m not about to just drop him forever. Just … for a little bit. We’re best friends. Were. Are. I don’t know anymore.”

“I thought this was about getting over him?” Bro asks, and you hiccup-laugh into your glass, taking another drink and relishing the slide of it down your throat.

“I totally lied, Bro, come on. I loved him. That hasn’t changed. Not really. I’m fed up with him, but at the same time, I can’t get him out of my head and it fucking sucks. Half of me never wants to trust him again and the other half…” you trail off before looking up at Bro, head listing loosely off to one side.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“The other half wants him back. Even if it ends badly.” You squint. It’s already technically ended. You sort of walked out on him. After he walked out on you first. Still. “Has ended badly. Besides, we’ve barely talked for the last few months. Maybe things have changed. Maybe now we can actually be friends again.”

From the look on his face, Bro doesn’t quite agree, and you groan, frustrated. None of your words are coming out right. Trying to get him to understand, you say, “Come on, Bro, you know what it’s like to be messed up over one person. There was that one guy you dated, ‘member?”

Ooh, ouch, okay, you can _see_ the moment Bro shuts down, his hand coming up to rub one of his shoulders psychosomatically before he can stop himself. Frowning, he leans over, reaches around just to flick you on the shoulder blade, right on the lines of your new tattoo and you flinch hard. “Yeah, I know that,” Bro allows. “Which is how I know it’s a bad idea. You shouldn’t ever let yourself get hung up on someone like that.”

You snort bitterly. “Too late.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while, drinking more for something to do than any real interest at this point. Eventually, Bro shakes his head. With a long sigh, he leans back, looking up at the ceiling. “Getting you drunk was supposed to get him off your mind.”

“Getting laid was supposed to make him love me.” You push your shades out of the way, hating how wrong they feel on your face, and rub your face. “Guess neither of our plans really worked, huh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyebrow waggles* who saw that one coming?
> 
> Okay, gonna take a moment here too: If you ever want to chat me up about this fic! You can find me on [tumblr](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com) and also on [twitter](http://twitter.com/zenellyraen). I'm v chatty, and I don't bite, promise. If you ever want me to see something on tumblr, either at-mention me or post it tagged "assholejohn tag" or "nwyw" because I still track those.
> 
> (also there's a cameo! Guess who it is!)


	8. Eventually We’ll Get It Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at home for the first few days you’re there are… tough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure we're all tired of the same "hey why'd it take you so long to update" run around, so let's cut to the chase.
> 
> The fic is complete!
> 
> I'm gonna upload this, then a week later (assuming I remember), I'll upload Chapter 9 and a week after that, Chapter 10. So keep an eye out for it, because it's all done. No more waiting. No more months of nothing. I'm sorry it took me this long to begin with. 
> 
> Also, [there's a blog now](http://neverwhatyouwanted.tumblr.com), for this fic. It's meant to essentially archive all of the assholejohn stuff, including fanworks, so that no one has to slog through the mass of posts on my tumblr. Everyone can now go to [this tumblr](http://neverwhatyouwanted.tumblr.com) and follow it or look through it for all of the fanmixes and fanart and what have you, all organized and tagged and everything. It's pretty neat, imo.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading. I hope it finishes well.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Endlessly" by Guster

Things at home for the first few days you’re there are… tough. 

You sleep a lot.

You wake to find yourself tired and aching, and you hold your phone in your hand for the sole purpose of pressing the lock button on it and seeing it light up with nothing new. No messages, nothing. Just a bright screen in the curtained-off darkness of your room.  It’s difficult to work up the motivation to do much more than checking your phone when even the breath in your lungs is heavy and hard. More often than not, though, you do manage to sit up eventually, move yourself into the living room and not much else.

Okay, you shower. The feeling of grit and grime on your skin gets unbearable after maybe a day, and you’re not fond of the idea of people being able to smell you. You’re not a preteen anymore. 

But even all that aside, you find it really hard to do much of anything at all. Hours slip past you with no regard for their passage, and before you know it, it’s time for sleep again and again. You’ve never resented nighttime like this before, lying awake with the dull hum of the heater filling up the spaces between one breath and the next, eyes gritty and wide-open.

(You sometimes imagine the phantom warmth of another body beside yours. Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t really make sleeping much easier.)

Jade is in and out of the house frequently, going to meet up with her friends that are in town and going exploring on some of the trails nearby. She never has taken to being cooped up well, and you hear her leave and enter the house more than once while you just. Sit there.

Your dad, on the other hand.

He can tell something is on your mind and endeavors to get it off by baking you things and initiating prank wars and with him, it gets easier to make the effort. You don’t want him worrying, so you pull yourself together, bit by bit. For Dad, you laugh and grin and get dressed and sit down to work on job applications; anything to get him to stop worrying. But there’s only so much a couple of cakes and some classic fart jokes can do. A little humor never hurt, but it’s not helping right now. As much as you’d like it to. 

It really can’t be too much of a surprise that he notices.

You’re in the middle of job applications, your laptop on the dining room table downstairs, when Dad enters the room. At first, you pay him no attention, instead clicking through the various links and reading down the lists of requirements to see if you even qualify for any of these positions. (It’s a painful, painful thing, because you don’t  _ feel _ qualified. You feel lost and uncertain. You feel like a kid playing dress-up. You don’t feel ready for any of this at all.)

Dad places a glass of water in front of you, and that breaks your concentration. You look up at him, a thank you on your lips that quickly dies out when you see the serious gaze of his light blue eyes. He has no glasses obscuring his view. You wordlessly plead for this to not be what you’re sure it’s going to be.

Luck is not on your side.

He gathers a deep breath. “Alright, son, what’s bothering you?”

You open your mouth, about to offer all sorts of platitudes, like "Oh, nothing, Dad, you know how it is. I'm just tired; I should sleep more; school’s killer; I have all of these job applications," but when you try to speak, the only thing that comes out is, "I think I fucked up."

And then you wince, because christ, swearing in front of your dad. Way to go, John. Dad only sits down across the table from you, though, watching you carefully. He projects the air of "comforting father, supportive adult" like he was born with it, and you twist your fingers together anxiously. Slowly, you close the laptop, because you don’t need the open, blinking face of your incomplete applications staring you down too. Don’t need the words “Location: Houston, TX” there. Long moments pass where you say nothing and say nothing and say nothing, the words clogging up in your throat. Dad leans back in his chair with a creak of old wood. 

“Now, son, I know I never asked any questions this last summer, but you did change your mind and home last minute instead of staying at your college with Dave. You had been really excited about staying, so the switch came as a bit of a surprise.” Dad cocks his head to the side, blue eyes sharp. “Is your current problem something related to what happened there?”

Your mouth cuts to the side. You lick your lips. “What is this, twenty questions?” He waits through your protestation, though, and you finally sigh, throw your hands up a little in an aborted gesture. “Maybe?”

Your dad smiles slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Okay, that one is easy enough to answer. “Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened anyway?”

After a long silence, looking at your hands, now-threaded fingers on the table, you admit , “Probably.” 

And Dad waits. And waits. He waits while you pull your words together, even though they scatter moments after you think them up. You gnaw on the inside of your lip, let out a rough sigh. There is no good way to start this. “Alright, so. Remember how you always said you’d be proud of me no matter what I did? You… might have to rethink that a little bit.”

“Just tell me what happened, and I will let you know if I need to change my opinion,” Dad says without censure.

(You chance a look up at your dad, and you are met with nothing but his calm, understanding gaze, his dark hair threaded neatly through with darts of silver, the familiar laugh-lines around his eyes and mouth turned solemn for the occasion, and the knot of uneasiness in your stomach tightens, then relaxes a bit.)

You take a deep breath.

Squeeze your eyes shut.

“Dave and I… were kind of dating. We’re not anymore.”

* * *

 

It’s a long process, talking to your dad about this. You struggle with your words here and there, trying to make everything sound not nearly as terrible as it feels. You’re sure you’re only partially successful with that. But laying everything out like this makes the whole situation seem… somehow smaller. Throughout most of your talk, you keep your eyes closed. The view behind your eyes is speckled with the remnants of vision, pale and red and morphing together the tighter you close them. 

It’s easier than seeing any disappointment on his face. 

Finally, though, you’re done. 

Easing open your eyes, now sensitive to light, you lick your lips, swallow, only finally noticing how dry your throat is. “We haven’t talked since. Not really.”

Dad is silent for a moment, and then he nods. “When was this?”

“...Late September. Maybe October,” you answer quietly. Your dad says nothing to that, and you take a few breaths before mustering the words to continue. “And I’m not sure if we’re ever going to talk again. He probably hates me now, and he should, and everyone else has been weighing in with their sides and opinions. Or at least, everyone except for Dave, who isn’t talking to me, and he’s the only person I really  _ need _ to get answers from. He’s the only one who matters here.”

“Your friends don’t matter?”

“No, that’s not-.” You shake your head. “They do. They got impacted by everything that happened, too. But they keep expecting me to blindly just do what they say or sit there and listen to them berate me when they don’t have the whole story.”

“Have you told them your side?” Dad asks gently.

Tense and short, you shake your head. Then nod a moment later. “Kind of. We’ve talked. It just hasn’t gone well.”

“Mmm, no, I can’t imagine that it did.” Dad lets out a long sigh, and there’s a creak as he leans back in his chair. "I think you need to figure out  _ what _ it is that you want to solve here. That might be more important than you've been thinking it is. Do you want Dave to just forgive you and go your separate ways? Or do you want to attempt to be friends again? The ways you go about fixing those problems are mighty separate.”

Nodding, you slide your hands down your face, looking up at your dad. He lays a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, just watching you with patient eyes.

“I think you have a few things to do, son,” he says calmly, and you choke out a laugh, because hello, understatement of the year. You scrub your face again. “I’m not going to pretend we both don’t know that you messed up and did wrong by your friends.”

“Yeah. Yeah I know.” You have the weirdest urge to apologize to Dad, even though he’s not the one you have to say anything to. “I just. I know I want to fix it. And I’m going to. You’re not… mad though, are you? About me? Being...”

He thinks for a moment, but shakes his head with a fond smile. “A little disappointed in what you’ve done. You should know enough to treat your friends better. But as long as you make an honest effort to fix it, I won’t worry about it anymore. I trust you to follow your instincts and do the right thing. And no, I’m not disappointed in you. Dave is a fine boy to be involved with, and if you end up being in a relationship with him again, I think that’s just fine.”

You almost snort because hah, your instincts got you into this, didn’t they? (Not exactly, but you hush that voice easily.) 

Your dad stands with a groan and moves into the kitchen. You hear him open up the oven, and the slide of a metal baking sheet sliding out as he pulls a tray of cookies right out of the oven. “Now, who’s ready for some baked goods? I was thinking we could bake a pie.”

With a smile, you push yourself up, leaving your laptop behind to help him get everything out of the way. 

You feel lighter. The quiet, familiar rhythms of baking seep into you, and you can’t believe you used to think it was such a hassle, not when it makes Dad so happy, not when you missed him so much. Buried up to your elbows in flour, you feel better for talking about everything that happened with him. Sure, you’ve talked to Rose and Jade, but. Everything’s been so strange for the last few months, and you haven’t known where in the world you’ve stood with pretty much anyone or anything.

This, though. This is normal. This is how it should be, you laughing and rolling your eyes, and Dad with a fond smile, and if only you had Dave here too.

If only you had Dave at all.

After baking with your dad (which is something you enjoy even if you say you hate it), you’re at a bit of a loss for things to do. You end up back in your room, staring at the walls with a sense of displacement, like this place isn’t yours anymore. The posters on the walls are all the same, the arrangement of your furniture exactly as you left it, but these four walls have never felt so foreign to you as they do right now. You sit down on your bed slowly.

Even the mattress, a plain twin-size instead of the longer college beds, doesn’t feel quite right anymore. You smile, the expression sad and wistful. You don’t fit here anymore. Not really. Not where it matters. You should fit back in your dorm room with Dave, with Rose and Jade down the hall from you.  And now you don’t even fit there anymore either, because those times are long since gone, and you’re the one who chased them off. Flopping back on the sheets with a sigh, you let your arms spread out wide.

Your hand brushes against something soft and you start. Looking over, you blink, curious, then wondering, and your smile grows even more melancholy as you bring it in front of your gaze.

Dave’s rabbit.

Well, yours. But years ago, he sent it to you for your birthday, and while you didn’t bring it to college, you still had it. You still kept it out on your bed and the sight of it right now makes you think of him. Your chest constricts, and fuck fuck fuck, you miss him like breathing, like your marrow has been torn from you, and you’ve ruined everything.

There's a knock on the door.

You look up.

“Hey,” Jade says, quiet, and you echo her tonelessly, slumping back onto your bed again. Jade, luckily, takes this as the tacit permission it is to come inside, her steps muffled on the carpet of your floor. The bed shifts as she sits down. You turn your head to look up at her profile, squinting slightly against the fluorescent lights. “So I heard what you said to Uncle.”

You make a small noise of acknowledgement, cover your face with one hand and your bunny. Great.

Jade waits a few seconds to see if you have anything more to offer, but embarrassment ties your tongue. “I do think he’s right, you know.”

The noise you make this time is more questioning.

“About thinking yourself over. I think you did a good thing by leaving Dave alone, honestly, but I don’t think you’ve really taken the chance to consider what your own motivations are. Or were, I guess.” Jade reaches out and strokes the underside of your arm with firm motions, nothing fleeting enough to be ticklish.

You swallow tightly. Your voice, when it finally comes out, is thick with unspoken emotion. “I just wanted to apologize and he punched me.”

“You said something pretty damn stupid from what I’ve heard.”

“Yeah,” you admit with a sigh. “Yeah, I did. I wanted him to shut up and listen to me instead of shut me down, and I thought if I got him angry he’d let me talk. So I pushed.”

“Bad pushing point.”

“The worst,” you say.

Jade lets that fall between you. You feel more than hear her sigh as she shifts, and her fingers drag through your hair, pleasant and firm. Vague, cream-grey shapes float behind your eyelids as you keep them pressed shut, and your muscles are shaking very slightly. Just stress, you think, but maybe more like delayed adrenaline. 

What the fuck are you even going to do?

“So have you figured out why you were going to apologize?”

You snort. “Jade, I already  _ know _ why I was going to apologize. That’s why I went in there  _ planning to _ . I was going to say sorry for running off. And then answer any questions he had for me. I’m not sure what he would have asked, but. Like. I don’t know, anything, I guess. I just wanted to clear things up.”

“Oh, John,” Jade sighs. “That’s. Yeah, you needed to say sorry for ditching him, but that was never really the problem. You never really talked to him about everything that was happening, everything you did, and yes, I know all of it. You guys… you weren’t good for each other except for the part where you liked each other. I know you did.”

“If I liked him so much, then why’d I screw up so much?” you ask, brave when you don’t have to look at her. When all you have is the darkness behind the heels of your palms.

Jade’s fingers tug at a knot in your hair. “You were scared, duh. And you didn’t think you had to face the fact that you clearly were into dudes for a while, because the thing between you and Dave was just between the two of you.”

You swallow. 

It’s tough hearing it laid out like that. Tough, but good at the same time. You had been terrified to admit that anything about yourself was unknown, and it’s true that your attraction to Dave was much, much easier to understand when it stayed within your dorm’s walls.

“So, what do you wanna do?” Jade asks, simple and straightforward.

Taking your hands off your eyes, you stare at the ceiling, watching the color-spots left behind fade away. That’s a difficult question. What  _ do _ you want to do? “I just want Dave to be my friend again. And maybe more than that?” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Actually no, definitely more than that. But only if he wants to.”

Jade’s eyebrows raise. “Oh?”

You shrug awkwardly. “It was part of the stuff I figured out. I mean, I… we were dating, basically,” you admit in a quiet voice, twisting the soft material of your shirt around. “And I fucked that up, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy being with him. I want to try again. Maybe not immediately, but eventually, if Dave’s up for it.”

She hums, noncommittally, and you’re… Not sure how to read that. You suppose that’s the point. “Well, good news, you can start making it up to him at the New Year’s party.”

“I thought I wasn’t invited to that anymore,” you say, surprised, and Jade flashes you a quick, wide smile, her cheeks dimpling.

“Guess again, buckaroo. Rose wants to talk to you a bit more too, and it’ll be a good chance for you and Dave to maybe get back on track to at least friendship.” She tugs lightly at one of your earlobes, then, in the middle of your offended squawk, leans down and hugs you. It’s awkward with the angles you’re both at, but even half-choked by Jade’s hair, you reach up and hug her back.

If you hold her just a bit too tightly, neither of you mentions it.

* * *

 

[tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 10:35]

TT: Hello, John.   
EB: oh hey, rose!   
EB: um. thanks for re-inviting me to the new year’s thing.   
TT: You’re welcome. I wanted to offer an apology for how our conversation some time ago went. It had not been my intention to lash out like that, and you did not particularly need to end up on the receiving end of that lash of ire.   
EB: rose, don’t apologize.   
EB: you were right to get upset at me for kinda being a shitty friend.   
EB: and i’m sorry that i was.    
TT: We still have a lot of things to talk about, but thank you for the apology. It goes a long way.   
EB: i hope so. and i know we still need to talk. i have a lot to make up for.   
TT: But I will be seeing you at New Year’s?   
EB: yeah, definitely.   
TT: Good.

* * *

 

Days pass, as they do, in a flurry of sparse, wet snow and the smell of baked goods, job applications and repacking and blissful, stressful nothing filling up the time. 

Before you know it, though, it’s already time to get packing for the New Year’s party. Admittedly, you’re getting to New York a few days before New Year’s and staying for a bit afterwards before driving home, but semantics. You’re going, instead of having to try and figure out some other arrangement and some other plane ticket that your dad is just probably glad he doesn’t have to buy last minute. Seems that sometimes, you  _ can _ remember to be considerate.

But still, packing.

It’s not like it takes very long, despite your tendency towards entropy in your environment. You’re not as bad as, say, Jade, but you do still have to gather everything up again, make sure it’s clean, fold it properly and fit it all in. Plus your new additions of the Christmas presents you got make it less of a clean-cut job. 

You continue along just fine, humming absently as you place the first row of shirts in the suitcase. You turn, grab the couple of things resting on your bedside table.

And in your hands, a shirt and a pair of aviators, new, still in their case. Your heart does something strange, clenching and throbbing and generally making a damn nuisance of itself.

The shirt is not yours. Neither are the aviators. Or at least, they’re not intended for you.

You look at the items in your hands. You put them to the side.

It doesn’t really matter, anyway. It’s past Christmas already, and you’re late for his birthday, and it. It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to give them to him. And if you don’t, then he will just never know that you got the presents in the first place, and.

And.

Then he doesn’t have to know that you’ve been accumulating them this whole time. Like a strange magpie or crow. Or something.

You make a face at yourself. That’s a terrible metaphor.

But though the metaphor may be kind of awful… You look at the box again. You want to give him his presents. They might be relatively simple, and small, but he might like them, and even if he doesn’t, they’ll be out of your hands now, right? That’s… a good thing. But you don’t want Dave to think that you’re trying to buy back his love or something.

Does it even matter? Dave doesn’t have to like his presents. He doesn’t have to open them. You could at least give them to him. It’ll be a weight off your mind. He deserves to have them.

You let out a sudden, loud sigh, aggravation roughening its edges, and scrub the short, curling hairs at the back of your neck. You’re overthinking this. You’re way, way overthinking this, and it’s driving you up the wall. Screw it. The presents can stay here, and Dave will never have to know about them, and it’ll be… fine.

It will be fine.

You turn away from your suitcase, putting the boxed shirt and glasses on your bed. Now, you just have the rest of your packing to do. You’re already mostly there. It’s not like you really unpacked in the first place, since it’s just winter break, but.

You hesitate.

You grab the box and put it in your bag and toss some clothes over it in a flustered flurry of motions and flip your suitcase lid closed before standing.

Alright, yeah, that’s enough packing for the day. You can finish it up later. It won’t take long.

* * *

 

The SeaTac airport is the same as always, busy and hectic during the holiday season, and it makes you just a little grateful that you’re at least not flying out  _ before _ Christmas, but everyone is always going somewhere. This place is always busy. You look up at the ceiling, far away over the heads of countless people, and you wonder at the disconnected but inexplicably fond feeling you have for all the strangers passing by.

Right, Dad’s talking to you. You should probably be paying attention to that, honestly.

Luckily, he’s repeating the same things he has been for the last few days, as dads do. He’s finishing up the last few lines of his lecture just as you’re tuning back in. “And don’t forget to keep applying to jobs, even while you’re there.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Dad, I will, don’t worry.”

“Good. I wouldn’t mind you moving back in with me once you graduated from college, but it’d be better if you could get your own job and your own place.”

“Dad, I  _ know _ .”

“I know you know. I’m just being an old fart about this stuff.” He smiles at you, blue eyes wrinkling kindly. “Be safe.”

You let him wrap you up in a hug, the familiar scent of his pipe and aftershave wafting around you. If you cling to him just a little bit, that’s your business. So much has happened, even in the few months it’s been since you’ve seen him. You’re stuck in your skin, feeling unfamiliar and strange, so you’ll take whatever nostalgia you can get. Slowly, you pull away, taking one, last deep breath, and then you’re saying goodbye, making your way through the security of the airport, waving at your dad past the checkpoint. 

You follow Jade towards your terminal, staring at the ground passing beneath your feet in lieu of really looking anywhere else.

You’re not going to be doing this again.

The thought comes to you, unbidden, and your steps slow. This will be your last time taking a flight for a semester of college. You’re not flying back home at the end of the semester either. You’ll be driving back home with Jade and your things packed in the cars between you. This will be the last time you really get to enjoy the sight of the sun, spanning the long distance over the top of clouds, glinting white and golden, an endless expanse beneath you.

“John?”

You blink, refocusing from internal to external, realize that Jade is several steps ahead of you and that you’ve come to a standstill. With an apologetic grin, you jog forward to catch back up. She squints at you through her glasses, her expressive mouth pulled into an exaggerated, suspicious twist. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you answer. The words clutter up behind your teeth, and you gnaw on the inside of your lip to keep them back because as soon as you reach for them, they slip away. “Just thinking about the plane flight.”

“Worrying about Dave?” she asks, astute as always, and you shrug. Because, yeah, that’s part of it, but. The weird feeling of displacement, of not being ready for a future barreling towards you at full bore… It’s a lot harder to explain. “It’ll be alright.”

You just shrug again and move into the sitting area in front of your plane. You and Jade wait in relative silence, no words passing between you until your flight is called. Luckily, you end up in the window seat of this particular plane, and you drag your headphones over your ears, letting some piano tracks fill the gaps in noise. The entire flight is spent with you staring out at the clouds and the endless reach of blue sky, an ache under your sternum that defies description.

So many things are ending.

So many still are just beginning.

You aren’t ready for any of it.

* * *

 

The airport that you two land in is a much less familiar sight, and it takes a bit of walking around and pointing at various maps and signs before you make your way out of the terminal gate area. Your hand is unsteady around the handle of your single suitcase. Your heart, the cursed thing, races, filling your chest with a terrible, almost sick-warm nervousness.

It’s hard for you to breathe.

“Do you see them?” Jade asks you, and you lift your chin, raise up on your toes, like it will really help you see better.

There, in the crowd, is a single, familiar head of blonde. 

Jade barrels through the remainder of the people standing between them and doesn’t stop until she’s already most of the way wrapped around Rose, face buried against her. Rose, for the most part, takes it like a champ, holding her ground even through nigh-on six feet of Harley steamrolling over her. You scan the crowd around you. There is no sign of Dave.

Your heartbeat feels like it should be visible, shaking the very edges of your frame. 

Eventually, after a murmured conversation, Jade pulls back. She grins at Rose, at you, and grabs her bags from where she dropped them, leading you out towards the parking garage. You fall in step with Rose, and the ambient chatter of the airport, people leaving and meeting and making their way around filling up the spaces. 

You swallow.

_ You can do this _ , you think to yourself, and for once, it actually feels like you can.

“Hi, Rose,” you say with a smile, hoping it’s not as nervous as it feels. “How are you? And how’s your girlfriend? Is she going to be here too?”

She smiles, pleased that you remembered and that you’re not shying away from it, you hope. “Kanaya is visiting her extended family in India for the winter break, actually. But I will let her know you said hello.”

You blink. “Oh, I didn’t know she was from India.”

“She isn’t. She was born and raised in New York. But her grandmother has family living back in India, so they all went this year.”

“Nice.” You scan the crowd again, vainly, hoping, but no, you’re almost to the parking garage and there’s  _ still _ no sign of him.

Dave isn’t here.

Letting out a rough sigh, you shake your head. This is getting a bit ridiculous. And you wish it had stopped your pounding heart, but that seems to be too much to hope for. You meet Rose’s steady gaze when you look up from the floor. Her mouth is cocked very slightly to the side, enough that you don’t harbor any illusions about her not knowing who you keep looking for.

Rose places a hand on your arm, shakes her head. “He’s at home still. For some reason, he decided that staying behind was a more comfortable option for all involved.”

You’re not sure exactly what expression you have right now, but you can tell that it isn’t necessarily favorable. “What do you think, Rose?”

“I think he’s avoiding the inevitable, honestly, and he should really quit prolonging it.” Rose lets out a long, bitter sigh. “I don’t understand what his problem is. Alright, that’s a lie, I do, but I wholeheartedly do not approve of it.”

“It’s okay, Rose. I’ll try talking to him when we get there.”

“That’s…. Oddly mature of you. More so than I have come to expect from the last few months,” Rose says.

You shrug. “I’ve taken some time to think. Overreacting isn’t going to do me any good, after all.”

“Hm,” she says, and you’ve finally made it to the car. There’s a brief moratorium on conversation as you all load your bags into the back of Rose’s silver van, and you end up in the passenger seat with Rose. As she’s pulling out onto the highway after several minutes of silence, Rose continues with, “Well, that certainly throws my predictions out of the window.”

You, having lost track of the conversation since you stopped talking, blink at her. “What?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be mature in this situation except for me.” Rose shoots you a quiet smile. “Now who knows how things are going to work out?”

“You probably do,” you say.

“I’ve come to realize, John, that the more I think I know, the less I actually do. And you and Dave aren’t always the most predictable of people.”

From the back seat, Jade pipes up, “Yeah, because you’re idiots.”

You laugh. “Wow, thanks, Jade.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

Rose’s house ends up being a couple of hours away from the airport, and you spend most of it just quietly looking out the window at the patchwork snow. It seems like you’re actually just in a different part of Washington, with the wet earth and the light layer of snow, but Rose snorts when you mention it. 

“There is supposed to be a snowstorm the day after tomorrow,” she warns. “It will probably be gone by the time we leave, but that’s the snow in New York for you.”

Which, alright, you know at least one day you’re probably not going to go outside for now. Luckily, the drive goes quickly, and the roads you are on become more and more familiar until you’re going down the long, wooded path to Rose’s door. You grab your suitcase and the girls wave you off helping any more than that. So now, you…

Now, you just face going inside. Where Dave is. And Bro and Rose’s mom, too, but mostly Dave. You grip your suitcase tightly, the wheels rumbling all the way up the walk. You take a deep breath. It burns going down, cold against the back of your throat. You reach out, grab the knob.

Okay, you’re just going to open the door.

The handle doesn’t move.

Of course.

You kick the snow off your boots and knock on Rose’s door. You do need to get your head set straight. This isn’t going to be a walk in the fucking park. You’re pining for something you’ve given up the right to, something that you ruined yourself. You sigh. You don’t have any leg to stand on for this. You can miss him as much as you want, but it isn’t going to change what happened. Not when you’re probably not going to get the chance to make it up to him anyway.

What the hell would you even say?

“ _ Sorry we’ve been avoiding each other off and on for the last few months and one of the last times we tried talking, we got in a fist-fight?” _

Probably not the best option.

But as you’re trying to figure this out, the door opens.

And there’s Dave.

Nerves clamor their fluttering way through your stomach, constricting your lungs tightly, and you raise a hand weakly and wave, staring at his new haircut. Dave’s blond hair sweeps to one side of his face similar to his previous fashion, but instead of his hair gently following the same path until the long curve of his neck was exposed, everything around the level of an inch above his ear is buzzed short down to the nape of his neck.

You want to touch him.

You want to reach out and cup your hand familiarly around the newly exposed curve of Dave’s skull and the urge makes you clench the hand you have stuffed in one of your pockets. 

The silence is killing you.

You lick your lips, uncertain, but Dave takes action before you can even really think of something to do. His mouth twitches to the side. “Huh. Lalonde didn’t bother telling me that you were still showing up.”

Your mouth opens. “O-Oh.”

And that hurts. Jesus fuck does that hurt, but you push it back, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt in lieu of anything else to do. You can’t move any further inside, and you can hear Jade finally catching up behind you, her voice still distant and quiet in the snow.

Fuck, you wonder how his hair would feel against your palm, short and stubbly-soft, the way that newly shorn hair is.

Dave stares at you, a nondescript pair of sunglasses in their customary position over his eyes, and damn it, he’s been wearing the shades you got him years ago for so long that the sight of anything else still sits with you wrong. Those aren’t his shades. Not the ones you got him anyway, and that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. (Then again, you’ve sort of given up on trying to understand your emotions because they keep doing things without your permission.)

Finally, you shrug, the motion short and awkward. “Yeah, sorry. I should have guessed she wouldn’t say anything. But I’m here for a few days. Sorry.”

That gets you an interesting sort of non-reaction as Dave visibly turns that over. You shift your weight from foot to foot. Eventually Dave sighs, nudges his shades up almost self-consciously. “Sup, Egbert.”

You can’t help but notice that the words seem dragged out of him and you bite your lip, try to smile, even though you can feel how strained it is, and your voice comes tinny and far away when you manage to speak. “Hi, Dave. How… How are you?”

He shrugs and turns around to finally let you inside Rose’s house without answering you. The girls swarm you a few seconds later, laughing and chatting, and you’re caught up in the storm of their excitement. But you still keep Dave in your periphery.

Even if he is a little tense, he still looks good. The new haircut suits him, in your opinion, even though the shades don’t, and honestly? Dave seems a lot less tired than he did the last time you saw him, and that. That feels good, in a bittersweet kind of way. He doesn’t seem as thin-worn, pale and liable to crumple. Instead, he’s smiling and gently jostling Jade as they’re walking down the hallway, a warm flush tinting his cheeks in the light, and when he turns towards you again, curious, you’re not quite fast enough to look away in time.

So he catches you staring.

You jerk your eyes away, embarrassed at being caught.

After a long moment of silence, Dave says nothing and continues down the hall.

You have a lot of work to do. And you’re not sure how you’re going to manage. But you have to at least try, right? You clench your hands, letting out a slow breath as you follow them further into Rose’s house.

You have to at least try.

* * *

 

Rose’s house is just as large and chock-full of strange wizard memorabilia and alcohol as it was the last time you came here. Some things just do not change. It makes you feel a bit better about all of this, even as you sit, alone, in the living room the morning after you arrive. Rose and Jade have not awoken, as of yet, and you can’t really bring yourself to try bothering them.  Instead, you’re working on job applications.

Again.

(Really, you wish you didn’t have to, but a job is a job and you are a senior graduating from college in less than half a year. While Dad has offered to let you move back in with him, you don’t want to take him up on that unless absolutely necessary.)

It’s a quiet way to pass the morning, even with the muted background sounds of Mom Lalonde doing… something in the kitchen. Scrubbing the floors maybe? 

You’re not sure what it is that alerts you. But a sudden sense of watchfulness creeps, prickling, across your shoulders, and you lift your eyes from your computer in time to see the suddenly-moving figure of Dave’s Bro.

Moving right towards you.

Right past you.

Nervously, you raise your hand, following him as he moves. “Hey, Bro.”

He turns. Looks you up and down. And then just turns away to talk to Mom Lalonde, a hint of a lip-curl on his face as he ignores you entirely.

Well. Okay, then.

That’s. Better than getting punched, you suppose. Which is honestly what you had been expecting.

“I didn’t think you were plannin’ on lettin’ trash into the house, Rox,” he drawls, vicious, and ooh, yeah, there it is. “I know pests just have a way of getting in, though. If you need me to do some extermination, just let me know and I’ll take care of the shit.”

“What in the world are you even talkin’ about?” you hear Mom asking as you sink into the couch cushions. “The trash was taken out yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Maybe you should just.

Head back upstairs and stay there for a while.

That sounds like a plan that’ll at least get you out of Bro’s immediate zone, which is really… good enough for you right now.

* * *

 

Being around Bro this time is… an interesting experience.

And by interesting, you…

Well, you mostly just mean bad.

Despite the fact that he’s taking to following you around, Bro doesn’t talk to you unless he has to. If he isn’t ignoring you outright, he’s condescending and weirdly kind of aggressive. He doesn’t do a lot of overt hassling, but he’s. Always watching you. Staring. And sure, he might be kind of inscrutable behind those shades of his, but it’s still fucking menacing. There’s only so much a guy can handle. Bro’s antics are fun when they aren’t aimed at you, but you don’t really think he’d be up for starting a prank war on Dave. Not right now. That probably wouldn’t be a good idea, and wow, now that you’re thinking about it, he was totally testing you back then. Shit.

But it’s  _ aggravating _ . For all that you’re staying in the same house as him, you haven’t seen Dave all day. instead, you just get Bro, lingering around like a particularly persistent bug, always ready with a snide remark or cutting jab. Rose and Jade have at least come by, but Bro’s constant snippy remarks ensure they don’t stick around for long.

Your temper is fraying shorter and shorter by the second.

It takes him getting physical for you to lose it. Bro bumps into you as you head towards the living room from your room, deliberately and hard, his shoulder slamming into yours in a way that would probably have taken you off your feet if you were any less solidly built than you are. He pushes past you, ostensibly going to the bathroom, but probably just fucking waiting before he harasses you again.

You turn on your heel and face him, jaw tight.

“Bro, look,” you say, finally, frustrated, “Can we talk for a second?”

He freezes. Slowly, he shifts to face you, his mouth turned in a frown that cuts a sharp line across his face. For a long, long time, you think he’s just not even going to bother and is just going to walk away, as he has most of the other times you’ve encountered him today. But finally, he takes a deep breath and asks, harshly, “Can we  _ talk _ ?”

You feel as though you might have stepped into a bit of a landmine here. 

Still, you hold out. Stubbornly, you nod. 

“Sure, John. We can talk.” He approaches you, drawing himself up to his full height, and you feel yourself straighten in response, even as your nerves jangle, loud and jittering. “How about we talk about what you did to my little brother.”

...This was definitely a mistake. You swallow. “Bro, look, I-”

Bro holds up a hand. “Let me restate that. We’re gonna have ourselves a good ol’ sit down and I’m gonna let you know a bunch of shit that I think and you’re gonna nod and agree to it all, gotcha? Because what you fucking did was absolute bullshit, and I can’t believe you’d-. I can’t believe you would do that to him. I thought we had a kind of understanding, you and I, John. I thought you knew that the deal was that if you didn’t fuck Dave around, I wasn’t going to get mad, but what did you do? You screwed up and-”

“Bro, hang on-”

“-I mean, I’ve fucked up too. I’ve made my own share of mistakes, but this? From you?” Bro takes a step towards you, and you take a step back. He keeps on advancing towards you until you can feel his breath on your face, his voice low and growling. “This is a level of bullshit that I never thought you’d sink to, and I’m  _ pissed _ , so if you ever,  _ ever _ touch him again, I will make you so miserable an entire ward of goddamned orphans would cry for looking at you. Got it? Because this whole wishy-washy bullshit has to  _ stop _ , and I’m gonna make it. So don’t you ever fucking mess with Dave again-”

“Wait, I-”

“-and I swear to every listening god that if you keep on jerking his chain about shit like this, I will hunt you down and kill you like the pig that you are, you got that? One more fucking time, and I will fuck you up so bad that your sweet pappy won’t even fucking recognize the mess that will end up being your corpse. You’ve crossed the goddamned line so many times with him and I don’t know wh-“

“Bro, back the fuck up,” Dave snaps.

And just like that, he’s out of your face. He’s leaning back now to stare Dave down, eyes set hard. Dave holds his gaze, chin up, tense and angry and you’re struck with the sudden thought that you used to be able to read him. Or so you thought. But now you don’t understand the language that he’s vibrating with right now, the things unspoken passing between the two brothers.

“Back. Down,” Dave orders, the words cutting out between clenched teeth. For a long, long moment, it seems as though Bro will do nothing of the sort, but finally, Bro steps back, hands up.

“Whatever, little dude. Don’t blame me for trying to-“

“Not right now. Not here, and not today. I don’t want to deal with it. Go talk to Mom or something. Just get out of here right now, and don’t bother John.”

They stand, staring, still as statues, until Bro, with a quiet tch-ing noise, turns on his heel and stalks out of the room. Dave watches until his bro is out of sight, suspicious and tense. Footsteps fade, and Dave now turns. And levels his stare at you. Your breath catches. Is now your chance to talk?. He’s opening his mouth (your heart pounds through your chest) and he-

-closes it. Turns around. And walks out.

You. Don’t call out after him. You promised, again, that you were going to wait until he was ready to talk to you, and right now, you don’t even know what you would say. Slowly, you sink down to the ground. Bury your face in your hands. And try not to panic as you fight through your instinctive defensive reaction and protestations of innocence, knowing that everything Bro just said about you was entirely, uncomfortably, true.

You’re only partially successful.

You don’t know how long you’re down on the floor. The sounds of the household continue around you, uninterrupted in your absence. You body goes numb and then indifferent to the numbness, sitting as you are curled up in the hallway, your breathing loud in your ears. It’s okay. It will be okay. You have time. It’s fine. It is.

“John?”

Twitching in surprise, you look up, rubbing under your eyes in a way you hope isn’t too obvious but probably misses the marker for subtle by several hundred feet. No tears, you’re good. “Jade? What’s up? Oh, uh. Sorry about disappearing there. I was just. Uh.”

“Arguing with Bro. We know.” Jade sits down beside you, and you see Rose come into view, though she stays near the doorway instead of moving any nearer to you. With a sigh, Jade nudges you roughly, her shoulder bumping into yours bone first. “He wasn’t exactly quiet about tearing you a new one earlier.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly. You let your head loll back onto your shoulders, a sigh escaping you as you try to take solace in the warm line of contact between you and Jade. Tiredly, you rub your face again. “Man, I just feel-”

“Like a complete asshole?” Rose offers, not unkindly, and you wince.

“Yeah, basically.”

Rose, careful in the economy of her motions, crouches in front of you, wrapping her arms around her knees tightly. “Well, you know what you did wrong.”

Eyebrow raised, you look at her and say, dryly, “Apparently everything?”

She swats you gently. “Don’t be overdramatic. I thought you had pulled your head out of your ass and pay attention to what’s going on and what people are telling you.”

You let out a long sigh, blowing up a bit of hair that had fallen in your face. “Let me count it out, okay? One, Bro wants me to stay the hell away from Dave on the pain of death. Two, Dave wants me to stay the hell away from him because he and I don’t know how to talk anymore. Three, you and Jade want me to stop fucking up, which I can’t do unless I talk to Dave, which neither he nor Bro actually wants. Four, your mom wants more alcohol. I can hear her calling for it from here.” You count these all out on your fingers and then make an exasperated gesture with your outstretched hand. “Did that cover everything?”

Jade, beside you, rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Dave does actually want you to talk to him.”

You rub your face with your hands, groaning under your breath. “Maybe, yeah, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face him right now.”

“Maybe not, but you’re both being difficult here, and I am  _ tired _ of it.” Rose sits down too, letting out a long, long sigh as she does. “When I invited you out here, I had intended for you and Dave to talk things out sooner rather than later, given your forced proximity.”

“We lived together for this last semester technically and managed to only say maybe a couple of sentences,” you say, and you want to be sarcastic but even to your own ears, you just sound tired. “I don’t know what a few more days was meant to do, really.”

Rose frowns, her eyebrows furrowing. “Well, it wasn’t meant for you to skulk around the house like a ghost. Not as though Dave is behaving any more maturely. Last I checked, he had barely left the sanctuary of his room, save for meals and the occasional voyage to the bathroom.”

“And stopping Bro from tearing me a new one, apparently.”

“Yes, apparently.” Rose sighs, patting you gently on the shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Shrugging, you say, “Yeah, I guess? I mean, like, that was not what I expected from talking to him, but, I mean, he’s not wrong. And I just. I don’t know. Dave. Talking, excetera, excetera, you know.”

“Yeah. I don’t think that’s happening right now,” Jade says, but she grins at you after a second’s thought. “So I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stay cooped up in here all day. C’mon, John, let’s go. I don’t wanna sit around moping all the time when there’s things we can do and places we can be.” Grabbing you, she hauls on your arm to get you to stand.

You let her drag you up. “Where are we going?” 

“Just outside. Somewhere. Come on, it’s a wonderful day outside!”

“It’s slushy and muddy out there.”

“Wonderful!” Jade insists again, laughing. “We can just trek through the remnants of the snow and trees and just  _ go _ for a bit! Maybe afterwards, we can even go into town! See a movie or something! We don’t have to be cooped up here all the time!”

“Or, we could just watch a movie here,” Rose points out.

Impatiently, Jade flaps one hand at her, scoffing lightly. “Okay, yes, that too, but come on, there are so many choices. So many possibilities! I don’t want to just have you guys here and then  _ not _ hang out! So come on!”

She pulls you outside, hardly pausing long enough for you all to get decked out into winter gear, and she almost immediately flings herself into the snow with abandon. You laugh, small at first, then larger, then a shriek of indignation as Rose calmly shoves a handful of snow down your jacket. It quickly becomes a three way slugfest as you all stand off against each other. Jade has arguably the best fort, but Rose is quick and cunning, and really, it’s no surprise that you’re screwed. Except you also have the best snowball flinging capabilities. You’re doing alright.

Right up until they gang up on you.

Jade tackles you into the snow as Rose presents a distraction, and you forfeit the impromptu snowball fight in a cloud of snowflakes and laughter.

When you look up, you see red, bright against the white and green of the landscape and the searing blue of the sky, and you follow the splash of color to Dave, decked out in his favorite hoodie and scarf. He is a vibrant, still shape, immobile save for the flapping end of his scarf, and you think of pressing him down into the snow. Of him warm and smiling beneath you. 

You lift a hand to wave to him.

Dave turns, silent, going back inside, away from the cold.

You think of regret, words you wish you could take back ringing still in your head.

A hand rests on your shoulder, and you blink, turning your head to see Jade standing next to you. She looks at you, face sympathetic, but she says nothing as she watches Dave leave too, her hair like a banner snapping in the wind.

“Movie?” you ask, mouth dry.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

* * *

 

You’re awoken by nothing at all.

It’s one of those strange moments where you snap awake from a dead sleep, past the gritty-eye stage and into full awareness. You push yourself up, keeping the comforter close to you because it’s pretty damn cold in the room. There’s a rhythmic pattering noise against the window. Slowly, you push yourself out of the bed, still clutching the blanket to you as you make your way over, slide your fingers between the blinds, and lift up to see outside.

There’s nothing but snow.

Snow, falling, heavily, from the sky and coating the ground, covering the assorted semi-bare patches still left after the last few days. The large flakes hit the window and scatter, melting a scant few seconds afterwards. You watch it, entranced.

The weather is good for sleeping. You could just lie here and watch it and wait for sleep to slowly claim you once again. 

But instead, you follow the impetus of your feet, antsy and wide awake, and you head down to the kitchen. Maybe you can make yourself something warm to get yourself back to sleep. The darkness of the house is comforting, especially with the lingering background noise of the snow coloring the air. It makes the otherwise stifling atmosphere bearable, kind instead of cold.

You turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs into the kitchen, yawning and scratching your stomach.

It takes you a moment to realize there’s already someone there. You blink. Heat flickers across your face, not quite embarrassment or interest but rather something between the two.

Dave, standing by the window over the kitchen sink, stares back at you. 

You lick your lips. A few seconds pass as you struggle to catch your breath, lungs heavy with the weight of words unspoken. Finally, you settle on just waving your hand in a strange half-motion, just the lift and flare of your fingers as you hope for reciprocation. The two of you are lit by a small wizard-shaped nightlight plugged in over the stovetop, a pale, yellow glow. Dave’s in his favorite sleeping shirt, a large, worn grey shirt with a simple black spade in the center, the fabric old enough that it’s pilling and immeasurably soft to the touch.

You remember teasing his thighs at the low hem of that shirt, sliding your hands underneath it, and that memory seems so far away from where you are right now. 

“Hey,” Dave says, quietly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

God, you hope your thoughts weren’t as transparent as you think they are. You look away from him, trying to remember where the mugs are kept in this place. “Not quite, I just woke up. And wanted something to drink.”

Dave makes a soft sound of agreement, then tilts his head at one of the cabinets across the kitchen from you. “Mugs are there, if you wanted tea or hot chocolate or something like that. The water in the heater should still be mostly warm.”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks.”

And for a precious few seconds, you can busy yourself with that instead. You get a mug down, your personal favorite from the collection that Rose’s mom has, and turn the water back on while you dither over whether you want tea of hot chocolate, and if you even want tea, what  _ kind _ ? What do you want to drink?

What do you want to  _ say _ ?

Finally, you pick something that smells like mint and chamomile, placing the little bag into the blue ceramic mug. The water’s finished boiling again by that point, so you can pour that in, and turn around. You can even pretend that you’re not surprised to find Dave still standing there behind you, watching you plainly.

You take a deep breath. “So, how… uh. How have you been?”

It takes a long time before Dave answers; you can’t even sip at your drink while you’re waiting for him to answer, stuck just tightening your hands around the hot mug instead, the heat numbing in its intensity. “I’m doing alright,” he says, light and reflective, his head tilted to the side in thought. “Like, I’m actually doing pretty okay, all in all, even with…”

You wince. That makes Dave look at you, interested, but you don’t know how to explain the rush of guilt.

Or not quite guilt. You feel bad that your presence is making things awkward, but he said he’s alright, so you know you can’t accept too much of the blame on yourself. Not for this, at least. Instead, you force a smile past the initial wince. “That’s good.”

For a long, long moment, silence reigns again. You hold your mug up under your nose just to smell your tea, though that backfires on you pretty bad when all it really manages to do is fog up your goddamned glasses. You pull away, blink a few times. Dave comes back into focus through a slow-moving haze. You breathe in. Out.

You ask, “How are we… how are  _ we _ doing?”

Dave’s mouth opens, closes, ticks to the side. “I’d say that’s up to you, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He doesn’t even give you much time to respond to that, pushing forwards with, “Look, I’m tired, it’s late, and I just want to know what the hell you’re actually trying to find out here, and I don’t want to beat around the proverbial bush anymore.”

“I … We haven’t…” You sigh, scrub the back of your head with one hand, and take a slow, deep breath to organize yourself, to burn off the sting of anger. “We haven’t talked in months. Not really. I just wanted to know what’s happened with you recently. That’s all. I want to try and catch up. Find out how you were doing, and if you’re interested in talking to me again. Because I’m listening now.”

Dave regards you curiously. One eyebrow lifts. “And if I told you I was dating Karkat?”

Your heart stops.

You force yourself to keep an even expression, though you’re not sure how successful you are. You try, at least. “Then. I… hope you’re happy with him. Because it isn’t my place to say anything else.”

But the words are bitter, bitter in your mouth.

Dave turns back to his drink, stirring it idly as that statement spreads between you. The light clinking sounds of his spoon against ceramic tap out at rhythmic intervals, and you drop your gaze to his hands. You can’t bring yourself to look up. To see that truth spelled out on his face. It’s no more than you deserve, though. At least Karkat wouldn’t hurt him like you did. And you have no place being jealous of something you ruined.

“I’m not,” Dave says.

You jerk your head up. You search Dave’s profile, seeing the somehow delicate curve of his cheek below his eye from behind his new sunglasses. He blinks slowly down at his cup and the fall and rise of his lashes is somehow entrancing. 

He finally looks back at you again. Lifting his cup to his mouth, Dave takes a long, quiet drink. Finally, he says, “You’re right, you don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to my love life. But I’m not.”

“Then why…?”

“I was just wondering what you’d say.”

You lick your lips. “And…?”

“I’m tired,” he says again, but this time it sounds like he means it too, rough and low. He shakes his head, his short bangs fanning as he does, the stark curve of his neck exposed. “And I don’t think we should keep talking right now, otherwise I might do something I regret.”

Wait.

With careful motions, Dave rinses out his cup, puts it in the sink, and moves around you, but at the last second, your heart pounding hard and crawling up your throat, you reach out and snag him by the elbow. The suddenness of the move makes your tea slosh over the sides of the mug, over your fingers and onto the tile below. You breathe through the sting, glad that the liquid is only warm and no longer boiling. Dave does not turn back towards you. He does not pull away.

“What would you regret doing?” you ask softly, hoping beyond all hope. Something’s changed here in the last few sentences that’s completely changed the almost easy atmosphere you had just moments ago. It’s tense, air tingling with anticipation.

Dave’s shoulders move as he sighs, and his head tilts upwards. “Right now? A fucking lot of things, because for someone who just said that my love life was none of their business, you’re sure as shit getting up on me a little hard, and I’m not about to take that again. Let me go. I’m going back to bed.”

Stung, you let go of him immediately.

Despite his words, Dave does not move for a few seconds. When he does, he looks over his shoulder, and your breath catches at the expression on his face, something torn and sad and so, so exhausted. He looks like he’s about to say something, but it passes, and he heads upstairs instead. You follow a few steps behind him, still trying to drag your words together. You hover at the bottom of the staircase, one foot on the first step, tea still dripping occasionally to the floor below.

When he’s halfway up the stairs, you say, “Dave. Dave, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was pushing.”

He shrugs, a short, jerky motion. He does not stop, and you have to strain to hear his voice. “You always push. I just don’t want this to get swept under the rug and ignored until it’s a festering mess again.”

Dave disappears beyond the curve of the staircase and you hear the faint click of the door closing a moment later. 

Maybe, you think, talking to him while you’re half asleep and muggy was not quite the best idea.

Slowly, you turn and stand in front of the kitchen sink, looking out over the snow-covered land. You can see the snow falling as white dashes against an oddly yellow-ish sky, and you stand there until your feet are cold, the dregs of your tea colder. It’s only then that you finally set your drink down and go back upstairs to fall into a fitful slumber.

Despite trying to come up with  _ something _ you can do the entire time you stay there, you still don’t know where to go from here any more than you did before.

* * *

 

The morning of New Year’s Eve’s dawns cold and white, and you don’t let yourself linger in your bed the way you think you’d like to. Checking the clock, you realize that it’s less dawn and more almost-afternoon, which sort of explains the dull headache you have right now. Carefully, slowly, you go downstairs again, hoping beyond all hope that you don’t run into Dave in the kitchen again. You’re still not sure what to say to him. You’re becoming less sure of anything at all.

“Johnny boy!”

You blink.

Blinking gives you enough time to realize that Mom Lalonde, whose name you never quite remember, is headed your way, cheeks flushed and white-blond hair slightly mussed. She hugs you, the sharp smell of liquor and perfume wafting over you as she does. “How’s my favorite not-son doing?”

“I’m alright. What are you doing up so early?”

“Early? It isn’t early! But, still, there is a reason!” Letting go of you, Mom touches her finger to her nose conspiratorily. “Food, John. I gotta make food. For the party tonight. It’s New Year’s! There’s gotta be some food. And I was actually wonderin’... D’you think you could give me a hand with cooking?”

You smile. “Yes, ma’am, I think I can help you with that.”

“Good. Cuz we got a lotta food to get crackin’ on.”

* * *

 

That takes up several hours of your time, luckily. Cooking always keeps you distracted, and attempting to keep Mom Lalonde from blowing up something or dumping an entire bottle of alcohol into the stew bubbling on the stove. Or in the turkey. Or the pies. Really, Mom just tries to put alcohol in everything, and she’s finally satisfied when you let her mix a batch of punch for everyone. And pull out the various vintages of champagne that she has lined up for the evening. You draw the line at anything else.

Throughout the day, you’ve been mildly aware of people coming in and out of the kitchen, nabbing bits of the food you’ve been making. But eventually, there’s only so much preparation you can do. 

You look around at the mounds of food around you. Yeah, this is. Pretty nuts, actually, now that you think about it. There are only six of you, and you’re supposed to eat all of this? Hopefully you get to take some of it back with you because otherwise,  _ wow _ , Mom Lalonde is going to be in the money with snacks for several months.

Laughter spills in from the living room, and you lean back just to get a small glimpse over the waist-high cabinets. Everyone is piled up on the various couches covering the living room, and you take your drink and a plate of snacks and sit down on the kitchen floor. Leaning back against the cabinet, you can hear them still pretty well. Better for you to stay in here and just enjoy the company without pushing yourself in, right? That way, you can remake any of the snack trays when they start looking a little depleted. Yeah.

Yeah.

You set your plate to the side, curling your knees up to your chest. This way, you won’t bother anyone by being at a party you probably shouldn’t have bothered coming to.

“Are you just going to stay in here all night?” Rose asks, gently.

You look up at her, leaning over the countertop to see you, and your smile is probably not as strong as it could be. “I’m fine down here, Rose. I think it’ll be better for me to just. Stay out of the living room. For everyone’s sake, not my own.”

“That’s boring,” Jade announces as she moves around Rose to walk into the kitchen and crouches in front of you, head tilted curiously. “C’mon, John, it’s not like you to just give up like this.”

“It’s “not like me” to string Dave alone either, but hey, that happened,” you snort, then frown at yourself. “Okay, that was a bit too much. Sorry. I just. I don’t want to make things even more awkward. I don’t really know how to just let things be between Dave and I right now.”

Rose frowns. “Haven’t you talked to him at all?”

“I tried last night and it didn’t… it kind of went poorly?” You shrug. “I just. Don’t think that we really should talk right now. Every time I keep trying to fix things between us, it just really doesn’t work.”

You can see Rose tense as though she wants to say something in the corner of your vision, but she holds her tongue as Jade straightens. Looking between the two of you, Jade sighs. "Look, John, you have things you need to sort out. Soon. We can all be friends as long as we work at it and don't let any of this happen again. I suggest John talks to Dave, if Dave's willing."

"Supposing he has the mental maturity for that," Rose mutters, but she subsides when Jade shoots her a glare. Holding up her hands in surrender, Rose leans back out the kitchen, fishing for her phone as she rounds the corner.

You and Jade watch her go, and Jade exhales loudly once the murmur of conversation has fully recovered. "Sorry about that. She's been still pretty on edge about everything."

"Hah. That's. Great to know." You sigh and rub your face. "Christ, I thought we had kind of worked it out. Was I getting ahead of myself? Don't answer that. I kinda know the answer already."

Jade smiles up at you, the expression wan and tired. "You _ should _ go find Dave and talk to him, though. The drive home is going to be awful if you don't."

"It's going to be awful even if I do."

"But worse if you don't." Jade pats your arm and sighs heavily. "I'm going to make sure Rose is alright, and that Bro doesn't come back over here and beat you up. And make sure Rose's mom isn't drinking herself into a stupor before she should. Have fun."

She heads towards the door, waving one hand over her shoulder, and it startles you that you can see how tired she is in the slump of her shoulders and the drag of her heels against the ground. Jade always seemed so untouchable, like nothing in the world could ever get her down and the fact that you have....

“Hey, Jade?” you call out.

She stops. 

“What do you mean by “finding Dave?””

“What did it sound like? He’s not in the living room either, dumbass.”

“Oh.” You sigh quietly, look at your discarded plate of snacks. A strange sort of lassitude, the same kind that has been sitting over you all evening, comes across you again, then disperses like fog in a breeze. You take another breath, finding it easier and easier this time. Jade is still waiting for you, hovering right on the switchover from tile to carpet. “Why don’t you just try and enjoy the party instead? I’ll talk to Dave. And apologize to Rose again. Sorry.”

Jade closes her eyes for a second, then nods. “I… I’ll try. I just. Wish this was all a lot easier. And already done with.”

“I know.”

She smiles at you over her shoulder, eyes creased deeply with the wideness of it. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

And she leaves. You square your shoulders. Time to talk.

* * *

 

It almost feels like it should take you a while to find Dave. There are plenty of places for him to be that aren’t the living room (where he’s clearly not), but the study is likewise empty, and Dave wouldn’t be ballsy enough to hide in either Rose’s or Mom’s room, most likely. You still dither outside both of those doors for a few seconds, faint laughter and noise still filtering in faintly from the other areas of the house. It’s when you go out on the precarious walkway to the observatory that you finally catch your first whiff of where Dave’s gotten off to.

You recognize the tang of his brand of cigarettes in the cold winter air, the scent mixing with frost at the back of your throat, heavy and hard to inhale.

Looking around, you don’t spot anything out here, but the observatory ledge isn’t exactly the best place to really take a look. You head back inside and go downstairs, detouring through the back door instead of braving the main room. Bro is out there, and while you can handle him, you just. Don’t want to have to right now.

Snow crunches under your feet as you make your way towards the front of Rose’s house, and you see him, lit up twofold by the golden light streaming from the windows and the moon high overhead. He has cleared himself a spot to sit amongst all the snow, feet dangling over the edge near the waterfall, and you can see the thin trail of smoke from his lit cigarette snaking into the atmosphere.

He has to have heard you by now. You aren’t exactly quiet. But still. 

“Hey.”

Dave twitches. But he just nods at you as you step up next to him, doesn’t say anything for a while. The cold bites at your exposed skin, slides down your esophagus, and you swear you feel your heart stuttering to try and fight it. Though you admit, quietly and sullenly and only to yourself, that part of your heart’s palpitations is due to  _ Dave _ and being so near  _ Dave  _ and you-

-have to let it go. You swallow it down and accept it as something you can move past, something you can bury if you need to, because this isn’t all about you and your guilt. This is about him too. 

A huge plume of smoke and breath-cloud leaves Dave’s mouth. He taps his cigarette against his fingers, and both he and you watch the burnt pieces fall to the ground. “Sorry about Bro,” he says, and he doesn’t really sound sorry at all, just tired in an entirely too-numb way that seems only fitting in the cold.

You shrug, awkward. “He’s… not wrong.”

Dave shoots you a glance that you barely catch out of the corner of your eye, and even then, it’s only because you’re desperately trying to look at him without actually looking at him. After a silence that is a hair too long, he takes another drag and exhales. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You lace your fingers together, feeling the slide of half-numb skin across half-numb skin. “I’ve been… thinking about that a lot, actually. Everything he said to me. Or something similar to that, as it is. And everything we talked about last night, too. Um. I wasn’t …”

Your voice falls flat. You try to figure out what to say next, but you come up with nothing and thus let the standstill linger.

“Doing anything good for either of us?” Dave finishes, his voice dry and bitter.

“Something like that.”

He snorts, looks away. the dismissal hurts more than you thought it would. “Well, good, but I hope you’re not expecting us to just sit around and sing kumbaya now, because talk is fucking cheap, Egbert.”

“Wh-. Look, I’m just. I’m trying, okay? You can’t say that I’m not fucking trying to do something about this shit.” You scuff your feet against the ground, kicking some of the snow into the rushing water below and turn to face Dave fully, taking in his lean frame, the lines of him that cut from his ankles up his legs, down to the tense angles of his wrists, braced against the ground. “Fuck, I messed up, I get that. I know. I’m trying to fix it, so can everyone stop throwing it in my face already?”

Dave flicks his cigarette over the edge into the waterfall and stands up, looming over you by a few inches. You lift your chin. “Messed up is a bit mild for everything that happened, don’t you think? Using me for two years and denying any real interaction or affection or even just some fucking attraction was just a mistake, right? Nothing more. I’m sure we’ll just completely forgive you if you just bow your head and mouth ‘sorry’ a few times. I hate to say it, Egbert, but sorry ain’t gonna cut it. You threw my feelings for you in my face for two years, I’m sure I can throw your own overblown sense of ego at you and you’ll walk out without being worse for the wear.”

You stare at Dave, shocked. "I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, Dave, but last time I tried to apologize, you punched me in the face.”

“...Yeah, I did.” Dave shrugs, though he drags his teeth against his lip in a way that suggests, to you, that he isn’t feeling too great about that either.

Flexing and unflexing, your hands fidget with the hem of your shirt. "I’m not just trying to say sorry and sweep it under the rug," you say, frustrated. “I want to fix … this. Us. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Or how to do it.”

Dave leans back again, tilts his head, light from inside glinting off his shades and hair and the snow all around, flecks of bright, glimmering gold. He says nothing.

You lick your lips. "How do I fix this?"

"Easy. You don't."

And that's. That's just not acceptable. You have no idea how to come back from that, what to say, but something has to be said. That much is certain. So you square your shoulders, take a deep breath. “I don’t think giving up so easily is the right thing to do, either. I’m  _ going _ to fix it, regardless of anything else.”

“Look, I just.” Dave sighs, rubbing the back of his head almost exactly the same way that you want to yourself. “We’ve done a lot of terrible, shitty things to each other. That’s not going to go away just because you said you were sorry about it.”

“It’s not going to get better if I just ignore it either,” you say, and you’re proud of how even your voice stays. “I’m not saying that things are going to be perfect immediately, dude. I know better than that. But despite everything that happened and everything I did and everything I fucked up, I still miss you, and I’m not sorry about  _ missing _ you. Things might never go back to us being… together. Honestly, that might be better in the long run. I really hurt you.”

Dave looks uncomfortable, his mouth twitching to the side as though he keeps having and discarding thoughts. “Yeah,” he settles on finally. “Yeah, you did.”

“I’m not asking for a miracle. I just want another chance to be your friend. I know it didn’t work last time, but I know better this time. I won’t make the same mistakes.”

“Just different ones.”

You shrug. “Mistakes are inevitable. I should be able to avoid repeating myself, though, so we can make all new mistakes instead.”

Dave stares at you, then scoff-laughs a little bit, hanging his head. He turns away, looking over the sudden drop before you and the wide-reaching forest of trees beyond. “What parallel universe  _ is _ this, even?”

“What?”

“I’m standing here, with you, willingly having a conversation about feelings,” Dave points out.

Carefully, uncertain of the mood, you let a small, sheepish, smile cross your face. You rub the back of your neck, suddenly aware of the tattoo beneath your fingers. “I felt like it was overdue.”

“It probably was,” he says, quiet, staring down at his hands. “Is. Whatever.”

You’re… not sure what to say to that. You look out at the snow blanketed landscape, glittering and pristine in the light spilling from the windows of the house. Large blocks of yellow-orange light cut dramatic shapes in the ceil snow, the contrast there stark and riveting. It’s quiet out here aside from the roar of water, even that and the clatter from inside distant and muffled in the cold air. 

You breathe out, watching the plume of air catch the light from the windows too before fading into nothing.

“What do we even do from here?” Dave asks into the stillness, and you twitch, not expecting the noise. When you look at him, Dave’s looking down still, twisting his fingers around themselves. He continues the fidgeting motion, tossing his hair out of the way as he looks up to watch the stars instead. “I mean, we’ve… I’m not even living with you right now. We haven’t talked in months, and before that, shit was bad. Where do we…?”

Carefully, you say, “If you wanted to, you could move back in?”

Dave’s mouth twists wryly. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I think we might just have to take the chance. I’m not planning on taking advantage of you again. I just want… I just want to be friends. That’s it. That’s all.”

“You weren’t planning on taking advantage of me the first time.”

“The difference is, now I’d know if I was doing it.” You hold up your hands, mollifying. “But you don’t have to. It was just a suggestion, and I’m not going to make you.”

Dave turns to regard you. Slowly, he reaches up, fingers red-tipped from the cold against the edges of his sunglasses as he slowly pulls them down. Your breath catches, a hiccup of a cloud rising in front of your mouth. With careful, deliberate motions, Dave folds up his sunglasses, tucking one arm into the neck of his shirt so they just hang on his chest.

Blue eyes meet red, and you two try to read each other. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been able to do it and come out right. Even from this distance, even in the indistinct light, you can still see the whimsical flecks of freckles on Dave’s skin. You take a step towards him. Dave puts up a hand.

You tilt your head to the side, heart pounding, and the tableau holds for a beat, two, three.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, throat tight. 

It’s true in a way that nothing else you’ve said so far is. True in a way that makes the revelation of it bare and vulnerable. Dave flinches at the words, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t make any move and frustration boils up past the block in your throat, bubbling down to your fingertips. You want to make him understand, but you’re at a loss for how. 

You try again, your words coming from far away. “I missed you, Dave. Please just-”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and you cut yourself off just to wait and see what he has to say.

“I’ll… think about it,” he says, like the words have to be torn out of him. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and you can tell even from where you are that he’s digging into the skin there with rough fingertips and nails, leaving behind white and red marks. “I just can’t do this yet. I can’t make any promises. Give me some time to think it over and make my own choice on this.”

“Okay,” you get out, before the door to the patio slams open, making both you and Dave jump.

“Boys! The balls is about to drop! C’mon, c’mon, c’mooonnnn!” Jade bounds out onto the patio, excitable as always and completely (or only apparently, you’ve lost the ability to tell with her) oblivious to the tension in the air. She grabs your wrist and Dave’s and tugs none-too-gently on them, grinning from ear to ear. “We can’t miss this!”

Dave sighs, irate, but follows her and doesn’t fight the grip she has. He puts on his shades as he rambles with his free hand. “It’s the same every year, Harley. Nothing changes. Giant ball in New York gets dropped, whoop-de-fucking-do, people cheer and kiss and then go on pretending like it never happened the next day as they wake up to the grim fact that they still have to shamble home in a hella-intense walk of shame. The most intense walk of shame. The walk of shame that will define the rest of their year as well as all the other walk of shames to come after as this is the first of the year and thus is most important and-”

“Oh my god, Dave, shut up already, we get it! Walk of shame, New Year’s is lame, you’re a party-pooper, whatever. Get close to who you want to kiss!” Jade chirps as she lets you go, having led you back to the living room. Rose’s mom presses a glass of champagne into your hands with a slightly slurred and mostly redundant reminder to not imbibe it until after the ball has dropped. You’re fairly certain that Bro’s glaring at you from the depths of whatever dark corner he’s decided to lurk in, and you are still standing next to Dave, unsure whether you should move away or stick close so you can kiss him.

“Ten! Nine!”

Dave grabs your wrist before you can move and turns you towards him.

“Eight! Seven! Six!”

Wow, seconds go by really slowly when you’re anxious about what’s going to happen at the end of the countdown. Time is so strange.

“Five! Four! Three!”

Dave echoes their counting quietly, but what he and you lack in volume, Jade and Mrs. Lalonde make up for in enthusiasm. You can see Rose watching you from her perch on the couch, and her phone is attached to her ear and she takes her eyes off you for a moment to smile at whatever the person on the other side of the phone said. Her girlfriend, probably. Good for her.

“Two! One!”

“Happy New Year,” he says as you look at him, your faces close. You wonder if you should kiss him, or just awkwardly smile at him and say it back. Your gaze dips from his eyes to his mouth. Dave’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and you feel the heat of his hand on your arm like a brand on your skin. God, you want to kiss him. You want to lean forward and close that gap and seal this year with a good start to the next one, with the feeling of Dave’s lips against yours. 

You sway closer. 

You can feel his breath against your skin. 

Dave-

-pulls away.

You stop. Looking up, you search his expression. Behind his shades, Dave does the same, and, silently, you and Dave stare at each other, trying to navigate your separate ways through an endless maze of half-spoken truths and misconstrued intentions built up over the last few years. You don’t want to hurt him more. You don’t want to do something wrong. Not here, not now.

But  _ god _ , you want to close that distance.

You lick your lips. 

Dave lets go of your arm. And you step back. Despite Dave being right there in front of you, the inches that separate you feel vast and unbreachable. You swallow. Smile.

“Happy New Year, Dave.”

“Yeah.” Dave nods, takes a sip of the bubbling champagne from his glass. He makes a face at the taste of it, but drains it with his second gulp. “I’m. Gonna, just. Get a refill. Need me to get you one?”

You shake your head, and that seems to be it. Dave nods before disappearing into the kitchen. You breathe in shakily and refocus on the rest of the room again. Rose is still smiling at her phone, and Mom Lalonde is kissing Bro loudly on the cheek  _ still _ despite it being at least a minute or so after midnight now. Bro, on the other hand, is staring directly at you. (You pretend that you don’t see his glare; in fact, you busy yourself with looking practically anywhere but at Bro.)

From her position across the room, Jade tilts her head at you, curious, and you shrug helplessly. If you knew anything about what’s going on anymore, you’d let her know, but at it is…

You suppose there’s really no time to stop and think. You just have to keep going. 

That’s really all you can hang on to.


	9. please say you'll meet me (Meet Me Halfway)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, I’ve thought about it,” Dave says, apropos of absolutely nothing, at dinner one night.
> 
> Jade and Rose have just conveniently left for seconds or drink refills or something, you lost track of what, and you blink across the table at him, startled. You swallow carefully, take a drink of your soda, cock your head. “Thought about…?” you ask.
> 
> “Moving back in with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more week! Just one more week. Reminder, [there's a blog now](http://neverwhatyouwanted.tumblr.com), specifically about this fic, so send your questions or whatever there if you want to, or just check it out. Lots of fanart. Lots of songs. It's all good.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Clearest Blue" by CHVRCHES

Birdsong is the first thing you are aware of. 

Before light, before your mind truly flickers on past anything other than a mess of disjointed sensations. Just the distant, present sound of birds. You wake slowly at the start of the new year, your hand aching where your phone still clutched in it from your long conversation with Kanaya last night. Light comes in through the blinds over your bed, spilling across the sheets and onto the floor, and you’re glad for whatever small amount of foresight you had that stopped you from imbibing as much alcohol as you have occasionally taken to in the past.

You have enough external causes for headaches without adding hangovers to the list anymore.

Tenderly, you make yourself sit up, check to see if you have any new messages from Kanaya. You do, a simple, “Sleep well, I love you,” and “Call me when you wake up,” and it makes you smile, the sharp-sweet ache of your necessary separation an unwelcome yet familiar guest. Only a few more days, you counsel yourself. A few more, and then you get to see her again.

There is a noise from the bed next to you. A shift, stretch, then stillness. 

You look down, seeing long, dark hair fanned in scattered, tangling curls across lavender sheets, and you poke Jade in the arm. She doesn’t budge. In fact, she almost settles down even harder, if such a thing were possible. Words are hard to pull out and raspy when you finally do, your throat dry, dry. “Jade, move. I need to get around you.”

Jade twitches, curling in like a plant or small animal, covering her vulnerable belly and sides from your prodding fingers. “Mnnnooo, don’ wanna.”

“Unless you have a particular desire to trap me and my bladder here, I recommend you move or book an appointment with me to discuss these new findings about your proclivities,” you tell her dryly, your lips quirked in a slight smile.

One green eye opens, squinting balefully up at you. 

You wait.

After a long moment, Jade grumbles, but she moves aside anyway, rolling towards the edge of the bed to give you enough space to maneuver around her. You leave your room quietly, blinking in the white-gold light of early morning filtering into your house. There are quiet noises from downstairs, the rustles and clanks of someone in the kitchen, as well as the low, muted murmur from a television turned on low. You turn towards your bathroom and go through your typical morning routine of showering, brushing your teeth, though you forgo the application of makeup that would typically preclude a venture out of the house. It is New Year’s Day, after all. You doubt any of you are going anywhere. You’d have time to put it on later even if you did.

By the time all of that is done, the air is filled with the smell of breakfast. The television is joined with the sound of conversation as well. Most likely Dave and Bro, you think, given the tenor of the voices.

Carefully, you pad downstairs and you turn the corner into the kitchen, interested in finding out what exactly was made for food. Upon cursory inspection, it seems as though there is a sort of “build your own” set-up for pancakes and oatmeal, and you grab yourself a plate, piling it up with food before you turn to join whomever is in the living room.

“Dave, just. Fucking shut up, okay?”

“Fuck you, John, you shut up first. Let me talk and I can explain-”

“I don’t want to hear your explanations!”

“Wow, rude. So rude. You are the rudest. How dare you- how  _ dare you _ ,” Dave says, and you-

Stop short.

Because there, on the couch, are John and Dave, heads leaned closely together, hair mixing together in a familiar mess of blond and black. They’re talking quietly together, clearly only half-paying attention to whatever cartoon is on the television, instead focusing on each other.

“No, no,” Dave is saying, trying very hard to get his phone back from John, “look, no, like, I get where you’re coming from with that, Egbert, but you have to understand that you’re just fucking wrong, okay? Let Superman wear as few clothes as Starfire, alright?”

“It’s a classic design!” John argues. “Superman isn’t showing as much skin as Starfire because he was made, like, in the fifties.”

“Dude, Wonder Woman shows more skin than Superman, and she wasn’t too far after him either. All I’m saying is that there’s some sexism there that really needs to be addressed, and the Hawkeye Initiative is doing a superb job of highlighting the differences there. Look at how fucking broken her spine is in this picture.”

John leans against Dave’s shoulder, looking at the screen in his hand. You can’t quite see his face from where you are, but he twitches. “Alright, that’s. Wow. Wow, okay. Yeah, that’s bad.”

“See? We should let male superheroes be a bit slutty.”

“Jesus.”

“Besides, Nightwing has a booty too fly to let the world not appreciate him even more.”

“Oh my god, okay, Dave, we’re stopping you here because no. No is why. Let’s just. Watch Young Justice and I’m going to forget that you called someone’s booty “fly,” okay? Okay.”

“Damn, that’s cold, Egbert, have you  _ seen _ some of the stuff with Nightwing? Dick Grayson’s got back, man.”

Quietly, you turn back around. This is. Unexpected. You had seen them come into the house together last night before the ball drop, but other than that, there had not been any sign that anything at all had changed. You had resigned yourself to the inevitability of losing one or both of them to the passages of time, especially once you all graduated this year, but. But this; this is a welcome change of course.

You bring your plate with you, passing Bro in the hall. He’s not moving, staring out at what he can see of the living room, and his mouth is set in a hard line. You touch his elbow, gentle, and he grunts acknowledgement, not moving his gaze from the couch. You follow his gaze, though you already know what you’ll see, and return it to study him, the morning light deepening the lines around his mouth, greying the blond hair already shot through with silver.

“Let them work it out,” you say quietly. “They’re talking.”

“There’s shit in the world that someone shouldn’t just be able to come back from like they did nothing wrong,” he responds, though he keeps his voice down as well. “It ain’t right.” 

Your lips purse. “I’d rather them try than just staying angry and bitter towards each other for years, Bro. It doesn’t hurt them to talk.”

“Even if it ends badly?”

“Then at least they can say that they’ve honestly, truly tried instead of just giving up. At least then, they’ll know.” You look over your shoulder as John laughs loudly at something Dave said, and you can feel an answering smile on your lips. “I won’t interfere without being asked, but given how Dave reacted to you offering your opinion, you might consider an option of retreat as well. At least for the time being.”

Bro’s mouth presses into a thin, unhappy line, and he stares, hot-eyed, for a few long seconds before he turns on his heel and stalks back into his room. He doesn’t quite slam his door, but you have the distinct feeling that it is a near thing. 

Regardless, you hear them both laugh again, and you continue on your way.

Your heart is light, light, light, and you exit your house by the back door just to breathe in the chill and the scent of wet earth beneath the snow, the potential for growth filling your lungs. It feels good. It feels like promise, as though the miasma that has perpetually poisoned your friends is slowly, cautiously retreating, and it is with a smile on your lips that you raise your phone to your ear, dial tone sounding already.

There is a click.

“Hello, Rose,” Kanaya says, warmly, and your smile grows. “How are you feeling?”

“I think things are turning around,” you answer.

“Oh? That is quite a change from last night. Tell me what happened.”

“They talked.”

Kanaya makes a sound of astonishment, then she laughs. “And it didn’t end in a fistfight this time? It’s almost as though they’re growing up.”

“I was surprised too. I’m… glad, though.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to force them into it, honestly.” Kanaya sighs. “It’s not fair that you’re put in the position of mediating between them.”

“Well, I don’t… They don’t really put me there. I put myself there. But I’m also pulling myself out of it. You’re right, after all. There’s… only so much I can actually do, and I think they’ve gotten themselves past all of that.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain, but if you’re sure.”

“I miss you,” you say, as you always do, and Kanaya laughs, low and warm in your ear.

“I miss you too, dearheart. I will see you soon, however. After all, I am flying back in just a couple of days, and you will be driving, and then there will be nothing to miss.”

You hang up the phone, letting your hand fall to your side as you breathe in and in and in, the promise of more now around every corner. It’s all you’ve needed, and while things are not  _ totally _ perfect between you and your friends, there is hope. John and Dave are talking. Friendly, easy talking. Nothing more, nothing less, for now, and it’s something you thought you might have lost to both of their hubris.

But not anymore.

You smile into the dawn breaking overhead, the rumble of constant worry at the back of your mind not quite gone, but quieter than it has been for months.

* * *

 

You get back to the dorm late, the sun already long gone below the horizon. You split ways with the girls easily, and now it’s just you two. Alone again for the first time since New Year’s, really. Longer than that, even. 

There’s a clear choice to make here.

To the left, your room.

To the right, Karkat’s.

You look at Dave carefully, glasses to profile to neck to floor. Give him time. It will be alright. You straighten your shoulders and smile a little bit, and jostle him with your shoulder. “Down to Karkat’s, you think?”

“What, not going to invite me back to your place for a nightcap?”

“And here I thought you still needed time to think,” you say, mock-offended. Dave snorts, though, and you call it a win. “The offer for coffee at my place is open anytime. But for now, let’s just. Sleep, and maybe you can help me pin up some more posters on my walls tomorrow.”

Dave blinks, slowly, before his mouth curves into a gentle if bemused smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

So you walk him down to Karkat’s room, elbows brushing occasionally in the cramped quarters of the hallway, and you bid him goodnight while Karkat scowls around Dave’s shoulder. He waves at you before closing the door.

Your hand lowers, slow. Fingers curl towards your palm. You breathe in. 

Let it out.

The length of the day is setting in, exhaustion weighing you down, and it takes you a few moments to muster the will to turn around and trudge back to your room.

You walk into your room, your suitcase dragging behind you. It’s exactly the way you left it before winter break, which means that honestly, it’s kind of a mess. Half of the room is eerily barren, Dave’s sheets stripped from the standard-issue striped mattress, his walls clear of all his accessories, and the other half was thrown around between packing and studying for finals, and you never really got around to picking it back up.

Carefully, you set the suitcase to the side of the room.

“Good to be back, I suppose,” you mutter to yourself, and head for the shower.

* * *

 

January passes in a haze of snow and classes and the lingering understanding that eight A.M. classes were created by the devil himself, no matter how long you’ve been going to them. You hang out with the girls every Friday, and while the first week is a little tense, the second is easier, and pretty soon, you’re having lunches and dinners together as a group whenever you can manage it. Just like your sophomore year. You go to the gym with Dave and Jade at least once a week, walking with your face tucked into the high collar of your jacket to avoid the cold wind. 

Sometimes, it’s all you can do to not reflexively reach out and touch Dave, curl your hand into his and pull him into you.

It’s fine.

(He is easier and easier to be around. The dark hollows under his eyes aren’t your fault anymore, though there are still times you find him watching you, hunted and wary.)

* * *

 

“Dave, you have to let me-”

“Dude, I don’t  _ have to _ let you do anything, okay, all I  _ have to _ do is fucking, like, move this a few inches to the left and, see, boom, fucking. Headshot. Eat shit, okay, all shall bow down before me.”

“Oh god, Dave, the Big Daddy’s here, Dave,  _ Dave _ -”

“I fucking see it oh my god, fuck no, please don’t tell me I aggro’d it, please no. Oh  _ fuck _ , I totally did, I’m gonna die, fuck. Just bury me at sea, holy shit, put me down and let me die, this is fucking awful. John, if I don’t make it out of this, just know that I always loved you okay, and that this has no bearing on- Oh thank the lord Jesus Christ on a cracker, he’s down.”

“Got a bit emotional there, didn’t you? Get the Little Sister.”

“I ain’t blind, John, I’m fixing to get her. If you’ll just calm down for two seconds, you’ll see. Damn, everything’s just a race with you, isn’t it?”

* * *

 

The air is brisk, biting around your nose with every inhale, even as you shove your hands deeper into the pocket of your favorite, worn blue hoodie. Your breath forms a cloud, and the silence rings around you. Only it's not quite silence. Not out here in the woods. 

“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised you came along for this,” Dave says.

You watch his hands as he focuses the camera, watch the way they curve around the lens. The quiet noise of the shutter ticks through the clearing, and you fold your hands together in the pocket of your hoodie to guard them against the chill. “Well,” you begin, finally, “I missed watching you in action.”

“Pull the other one, John, it’s got bells on.”

“Aw, come on, can’t I enjoy watching a friend get all weird and artsy about- what are you even taking pictures of right now?”

“Your stupid face so mug it up for the camera,” Dave says automatically, but he points at some point off at the edge of the clearing, so you think it’s probably the weird looking leaf over there. You squint. Maybe the bird? Dave likes birds. Likes taking pictures of them too. His place in Houston is covered in prints of weird selfies and bird pictures, and the occasional actual bird.

You shake your head. Artist types. So cluttered. “Also, I’m not about to let you wander off in the woods all by yourself. Who knows when we’d see you again.”

“Naked and muddy and rambling about conspiracies and my tinfoil hats about fifteen years from now, duh,” Dave says. He snaps another picture.

“Duh,” you say back, mockingly. 

Dave flips you the bird.

Then turns the camera on you.

“Here we are,” he says in a terrible Australian accent, “Followin’ the elusive Johnathan Egbert, in his natural habitat. The woods of Virginia may seem like an odd place for this buck-toothed wonder-”

“ _ Hey _ .”

“-but he is truly a magnificent specimen. We’ll follow him and see how he forages for food here.”

“Oh come on, Dave, really?” you ask, but he’s already contorting himself into strange positions and shapes around trees and fallen branches. You go along with it, miming out various scenes where you’re, you suppose anyway, some kind of wild animal. The forest is quiet, this far away from cars, filled with the low noises of birds and other fauna, your laughter echoing back through the leaves.

The sun is warm on your smile as Dave takes a picture.

Dave lowers his camera. He does not look down at the viewscreen on it, instead looking, almost boldly, directly at you. Your mouth relaxes from its smile into something gentler. And you stand still for his scrutiny, matching his glance moment for moment. 

Finally, Dave shakes his head, a faint smile curling his lips. “Come on, it’s getting cold. Let’s go back, I gotta start developing these.”

“Alright.”

* * *

 

“So, I’ve thought about it,” Dave says, apropos of absolutely nothing, at dinner one night. 

Jade and Rose have just conveniently left for seconds or drink refills or something, you lost track of what, and you blink across the table at him, startled. You swallow carefully, take a drink of your soda, cock your head. “Thought about…?” you ask.

“Moving back in with you.”

Oh.

Alright then, your heart has taken that as the gunshot to begin the races.

But you have to play it cool. So cool. It’s barely been a month, so this is probably just probationary or him telling you to fuck off once and for all, at least in terms of him moving in with you. You haven’t brought it up with him too often, or really, at all. Dave said he needed to think about it, and you’ve mostly just left him to it. After all, meddling has proven to be… not the best choice. Not where this is concerned, anyway.

“I figured we could give it a shot.”

You let out a stuttering breath.

Smile. 

“Really?”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Yes, really. Wouldn’t fuck around with you like that.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you say, stung, and Dave’s mouth only presses into a thin line, holding back the words you’re sure he wants to say. Still, you reign in your temper before it gets its head and wave the comment aside, smiling. “Want me to help get your stuff?”

“I figure we’ll wait for the weekend to move most of it back, but I can grab my suitcase and come over anyway.”

“Sounds good to me.”

It’s barely the work of a few minutes before you find yourself in front of your door. Dave is behind you, a presence you can feel as an almost tangle pressure on your shoulders and back. He’ll be back in the same room as you for the first time in several, several months. Hell, you’re the one who invited him, and you hold this thought firmly in your mind to calm your ass down. There’s no reason to be nervous about this.

Hopefully.

You stand in front of your door. You breathe in, feeling the shape of the key pressed tight against the sensitive skin of your palm, the edges and points pressing and sharp. Breathe out, and unlock the door, moving to one side so Dave can get past you.

Dave walks into the room. Stops, and you find yourself holding your breath. Will he notice or even care about the small pile of laundry bundled up by your bed? The stray cup left here on the desk, or here, by the windowsill? You laugh, nervous, shift past Dave so you can start tidying everything up. “Sorry about the mess, Dave. I didn’t really… I haven't uh. Had time to keep this place all neat.  I’ll get it all cleared up, though, no problem.”

“Probably a good idea,” Dave agrees. “I mean, it’ll be pretty hard to get the beds bunked again if your socks make me slip.”

Jerking upright, you stare at him. He meets your gaze evenly through his sunglasses, then quirks a small smile.

“Come on, John, you don’t have to look  _ that _ surprised. We’re getting the band back together, after all.”

You swallow. Grin. “Are we on a mission from God?”

“Sure as shit are.”

“Well, it’s dark out, and you are wearing sunglasses, so we must be. Come on,” you say, clapping Dave gently on the shoulder, “let’s get this all moved so you can get your cave back up again.”

Dave smiles back at you, shrugging widely before he moves, picking up a textbook of yours that was left on the couch. “You know I need pure darkness to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, like your soul. I thought you broke out of that habit.”

“Oh, I did, I just still like it. And this is our last semester here. I want to enjoy myself.”

“Yeah,” you say, a sudden lump in your throat. “Me too.”

Everything after that is a storm of unpacking, of shifting clothes and books and random accumulated detritus out of the way (and then the undertaking of lifting the beds because, of course, it has to be done  _ now _ ). Dave hangs his curtains up while you move the last of the assorted stuff off your desk, and your fingers run into something hard.

Your hands still.

A package.

Blinking, you run a finger across it gently. You had honestly forgotten that you packed this. Not that you had forgotten it in its entirety. Just that it was here at all. And inside, well. You should probably go ahead and give the presents inside to Dave. They’ll be late as shit either way, and at least if you give them to him now makes them not as late as they could be.

You probably should.

You open the box, take the glasses out, and put those in the desk drawer.

Now is not the best time for those. Things are still too new, and you, weirdly, don’t feel like you should offer him another pair of glasses right now. Not when you’re still on shaky ground. The shirt, though. The shirt is fair game.

“Hey, Dave,” you call out. “Catch.”

You throw the shirt over before he even fully turns around, so it catches him across the head. You laugh, because of course you do, and Dave levels a Look at you that just makes you laugh a little harder. Then Dave actually takes the shirt and looks at it. There’s a pause as he reads where you get to have a split second of absolute, soul-destroying terror before he’s laughing. 

Dave throws it over his shoulder, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you got me the Thomas Edison Zazzle shirt, dude.”

“Well, yeah, you almost cried laughing every time you saw it or thought of it for like a month straight.” You shrug easily. “I know how much you love terrible shirts.”

He holds out his fist, and you grin, bumping it gently. “Thanks, John.”

“No problem, Dave. Glad you like it.” 

And you are.

That’s the best part. You missed just hanging out with him, and you’re determined to relearn the narrow paths of this relationship, how to knock your head against his without pulling him to a mattress, how to look at him without wanting his mouth on you first and foremost. It’s both easier and harder than you thought, but it’s okay. He’s worth the few, passing moments of stomach-clenching want.

“Time to settle in and watch a movie?” you offer with a grin. “I’ll order that awful pizza you like so much with the pineapple on it.”

“Only if you take all of the ham, dude. And if I get to pick the movie. I am not watching anything that had its name even fucking remotely associated with Nic Cage, and if you make me, I will throw myself from this window ala a fainting medieval heroine upon learning that her love has fallen on the field of battle and-”

You laugh and push your feet against his. “Oh fuck, give it up, Dave. I’ll take your ham, you can take my pineapple, all will be right in the world according to your screwed up taste-buds.”

“Look, fuck you, okay. Pineapple is the only thing that really belongs on pizza, and you know it.”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

* * *

 

You walk along the winding paths through your college campus, cool breeze ruffling through your hair. The air is still white-cold as it slides down your throat, and you shiver. It’s February, so it’s too warm to snow by now, but the cold lingers in the wind and ground. Honestly, spring cannot get here fast enough.

And yet.

Spring could just take its time and that would honestly be fine too.

You don’t know what to feel about it. Tucking your face closer to your shoulders, you shove your hands into your pockets, hunching up to brace off the chill. It’s not the only thing you don’t know how to feel about. School is ending. You’ll be done soon.  What even happens after this? What will happen to you? Where do you go from here? What happens with you and your friends once you’re not living in each other’s pockets like you have been? Will you lose them? Your friendship has survived long distance before, but.

While things with Rose and Jade will probably stick around, what about you and Dave? Will it just be easier to let what you two have go down easily, fading slowly from existence as you two grow apart? A forgotten college tryst?

The trees in front of the library, as you pass them, have small buds on the branches. You stop. They weren’t there last time you remember looking. But they’re there, proof of the inexorable march of time, and you breathe in, catching the faintest whiff of green, growing things beneath the scent of cold.

You suppose you’re just going to have to wait and see.

* * *

 

February, too, passes. Full of tests and Valentine’s Day. You avoid Dave’s looks, aware in a hair-risen sort of way that last year, this is where it all began to go very, very wrong. This is when all the rot came boiling to the surface. This year, you just make fudge with Rose and hang around Jade all day, grinning at Dave when he joins you and Rose when she gets back from her date with Kanaya. 

There are flowers on his desk that you don’t ask him to explain. Karkat’s initials on the card hanging from them do enough to let you in. Nothing there changes as far as you can tell, though, and…

You don’t know if you even really have the right to ask anymore.

Still, the boat is still going on an even keel. It’s like none of it ever happened. It’s like you never asked Dave to fool around with you, and. You feel stupid. You could have had this all along, just this. Friendship and love, and none of the pain and stress that came with you and Dave. Together, that is. 

But then you never would have known Dave’s skin or the warmth that could be borne within you.

You sigh, dragging your hand through your hair as you stare, unseeingly, at the papers on the desk before you. Really, you need to focus and get this done, instead of just sitting around and thinking about Dave. Again. You need to get your homework out of the way so you can just enjoy the rest of your Spring Break in piece, but that’s just. Not happening, apparently. Which sucks.

The door opens.

“Hey,” Dave says, leaning into the room. “The girls want to watch movies and hang out tonight. You down, or are you too busy studying?”

You shake your head, trying, unsuccessfully, to clear the stuffy fog from your mind where it's apparently decided to take up residence. Fuck, fine. “No, please, I need a break. Get me out of here before I go nuts.”

“Aw, John, don't worry, man. I gotchu. We'll get you cradled in John Cusack’s beefy arms soon enough,” Dave coos, and you pick up a wadded piece of paper just to throw at him, laughing.

“Don't make it weird, Dave.”

“Your face is weird,” he says.

“Your mom is weird.”

“You're not wrong, but it’s still rude to talk poorly about a lady. Come on. Let's not keep them waiting.”

Hanging out with the girls is all well and fine for a little bit, but soon enough, it devolves into you all kind of doing your own thing in the same room while a show plays on the television. Rose is reading, Dave is scrolling through his phone, and you think Jade is playing Monster Hunter again, her tongue sticking most of the way out of her mouth.

And you?

Well, honestly, you’re just bored.

“This is awful,” you say to the ceiling.

“What is?”

“It’s Spring Break. And we have absolutely nothing to do.”

Rose snorts indelicately, turning the page of her book. “You say that as though it’s not the point of Spring Break to begin with.”

“Look, while that can be true, it’s also our  _ last _ Spring Break. I want to  _ do something _ , not just sit here like we do all the time. I’m bored,” you groan. “I just want to. I don’t know. Do something, you know?”

Slowly, Jade raises her head, grinning. “Oh my god,” she says with growing excitement, “I know  _ exactly _ what to do.”

* * *

 

Your heart is pounding and your thighs haven’t hurt this bad since the last time Jade challenged you to a squat-off, but Rose’s lipstick is a dark slash in the illuminated glow of her face and you have to keep mopping your face to make sure your glasses don’t fog up too bad. Your breath is labored in your ears. You carefully peak over the edge of the barrels you’re hiding behind.

“I can’t see them,” you gasp, and Rose’s mouth twists to the side. 

“Wonderful. That makes this  _ so _ much easier. Wait here for just a moment,” she mutters. In a short burst of movement, she darts over to an adjacent set of barrels. Then she gestures at you, pointing you down the corridor.

You nod.

Clench your hand around your laser gun.

And despite the fact that the rules of the laser tag place say to not roll, you totally roll into the aisle and come up into a low crouch. It kills your thighs for you to sneak forward like that, gun at the ready, but it’s worth it when you see the green lights on Jade’s armor between one of the slats, worth it when you lunge up and start shooting.

Worth it even more when Rose takes Jade out, falling for your distraction.

It’s an all-out melee for the next several minutes, an automatic voice above you counting out the lead changes, whenever you manage to wrench it from Jade and Dave anyway. But finally, it’s done. You lower your gun and sit heavily on the floor, breathing hard. There’s movement in the neon-dark landscape, and Dave emerges from his hiding spot, sunglasses tucked into the vest like they have been all game.

“Hey, Egbert, come on, no lazing on the job.”

You groan. “Job’s done, Dave. We’re all dead, all of us.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s high-five the skeletal hand on our way out of the trenches, okay. Come on.” Dave reaches out to you, and you take his hand, pulling yourself up. You linger there for a moment. Connected by your hands and Dave’s faint but unmistakable smile. It’s nice. Right here. You slowly let go, though, because your traitorous heart begins stumbling, begins the vortex of uncertainty and sweet fire and no. Just. 

No.

Not right now. 

“That was fun,” you say.

“Even though you lost?”

“Psh, even if we lost as a team, I bet I beat you. Jade’s a master rifleman. Most of your team’s points are probably hers.”

“Shit, true.”

* * *

 

“Look, all I’m saying is that if a team wins, it should give every member of that team a boost in their points.”

“Dave, you’re just mad because you came in last.”

“You’re _damn_ right I am.”

* * *

 

Back in the dorm room finally, Rose slips in a movie and settles back on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her as she leans against Kanaya, who came over as soon as you all were done with lazer tag. The aches of the day settle in, your muscles still radiating warmth from exertion earlier, and try though you might, you can’t seem to keep your eyes open. You try, valiantly. It’s such a struggle, though, with the lights down and your friends beside you, the quiet sounds of the movie coming as though from a distance.

And Dave is warm.

Your eyes slip closed once. Twice. You can feel your mouth and jaw slackening, and you try to close it by sheer force of will, but that makes you slip sideways, into Dave’s shoulder. Where, really, you might as well stay, because he’s warm and comfortable, and the familiar smell of his clothes brings a swell of emotion to curl up in your chest.

Beneath your cheek, Dave’s shoulder shifts. You end up tilted even further into him and really, really, that’s okay.

It’s okay. 

You can hear the quiet thumps of Dave’s heartbeat like this, and you can’t help but think that those are familiar too.

* * *

 

A hand strokes through your hair. You’re warm and comfortable, face mashed against something supple, and you subvocalize a contented sound, pressing your cheek even further against your pillow. The hand petting you pauses for a second, then retreats. You miss it the moment it’s gone, grumbling and shifting in a fruitless attempt to chase it.

Then Dave’s voice comes, quiet, “Aw gross, Egbert.”

Wha?

Dave?

You sit upright jerkily, looking around. Useless. You can’t see jack shit. Your glasses? Where the hell are- oh there they are. You slide them on, blink again now that the world is coming into focus, trying to figure out just what Dave is talking about. Dave, who you were sleeping on, apparently. Dave, who pulls his shirt taut and squints down at the shoulder you were just laying on. What’s gross? What?  

“Yeah, dude, that’s totally drool. Gross.”

You blink.

“Aw shit, Dave, I’m sorry, that’s. That is gross, I’m so sorry.” You wipe your mouth, and sure enough, you find the matching trail of drool on your face. How wonderful. Good job, John, let’s just fall asleep and drool on people, because that’s  _ definitely _ how to get them to like you.

Dave waves a hand, smiles up at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No big deal, really. I’ll just switch shirts when we drop by the room. Didn’t expect the sultry tones of  _ Beetlejuice _ to whisk you off to dreamland, though.”

“Look here, okay, it’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. We were about to get you up so we can clear out. The girls want their privacy after all,” he says, pitching his voice louder on the last sentence for Jade, in the en suite bathroom, to hear. 

“Man, I dunno about you,” Jade shouts back, “but I wouldn’t want to be around for Kanaya and Rose to pretend they’re stealthy about doing the nasty. Get off the couch and go to bed, nerdlords.”

Rose, from her bunk, throws something at the door, and Jade shrieks with delighted laughter. Dave just turns to you and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, pulling his shirt off over his head. 

“ _ Girls _ , am I right?” he asks sarcastically, and your mouth is dry as you keep your eyes firmly on his face. “Let’s go.”

You paste a smile on and do not let yourself look at the curve of his waist and hips. “Yeah, let’s get out of here before they start getting weirder.”

So you do, and you go, and you climb into the top of your bunk as Dave makes noises about having to change his shirt because of you. And the room is dark once Dave goes to sleep, and you close your eyes, ready for sleep. Ready for the depth of dreams to catch you again. Instead, you are awake.

You are awake.

This is not the state of affairs that you want.

Hot, restless discomfort crawls down your throat, laps around your chest before returning, a constant, terrible spread of emotions that keeps you awake and staring at the ceiling. Hours slowly crawl by. You doze off a few times. You know that much because of the occasional lapse in time, but it’s nothing substantial.

Your mind will just not shut off, and honestly, it’s fucking pissing you off.

God, you just want to sleep.

Beneath you, Dave shifts. The suddenness of the movement pulls you out of your own head, back into the dorm room with him again. You’re not sure exactly how he’s lying, but whatever position he’s in has left him with the faintest hint of a snore, the barest burr along the inhale. You time your breaths with Dave’s, at first intentionally and then not as your mind drifts again.

You’re almost done with school.

The thought should be comforting but is terrifying. You’ll be expected to work and hold a job down and you haven’t even been in the same location or environment for longer than four years out of the last ten. How do they expect you to really know what the fuck you’re even doing? You have no practical experience of any sort. And they want you to know everything automatically. The only thing you really know is that you’re not prepared. You sort of are. You’re ready to be out of school and making money. You’re just. Not ready for anything else.

You’re not ready to be apart from Dave, from everyone.

You lay your head back down on your pillow and stare at the ceiling until your eyes finally blur, until you finally, finally, with the sound of Dave’s breaths filling the room, fall asleep.

* * *

 

It seems like sometimes, no matter what you do, you’re always going to be fighting Dave for a controller.

Maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole about sharing, it would be a different story, but Dave’s actually kind of a control-hog and he likes making you work for it when you want to play a game. 

“Dave, come on, give me the controller.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I will,” he says, stretching away from your grasping hands

“You,” you grunt, reaching further, the stretch extending from your fingertips all the way down your torso. “Gotta.”

“I don’t owe you  _ shiiiit _ , dude.”

Just barely, your fingertips brush the plastic edge of the controller.

Just then, your balance, carefully held, goes completely to shit as your braced wrist twinges, and you topple forward. Your landing would be hard, except for how you brace yourself, for how Dave’s body bolsters you.

You pause.

The air between you is heavy, and you lift yourself up onto your forearms, nose brushing against Dave’s cheek, thigh between his legs, and it’s like everything you’ve ever known before. You could just lean a bare few millimeters closer, brush your mouth against his. It wouldn’t be hard. Your body prickles, a frisson of awareness.

Dave’s legs shift, opening just a bit more, allowing you closer to him.

The door opens.

“Hey Strider,” Karkat says, barging into your room without so much as a by-your-leave. “I was thinking that what the fuck is this?”

If you weren’t lying half on top of him, you don’t know if you would have noticed the way Dave tenses up. As it is, you do. You notice all the ways Dave is underneath you, sudden and immediate, a rush of warmth right to the core of you, mixed with a sickly sort of shame that you thought you had worked past. Jerkily, you sit up, backing off so you’re just on the couch. Dave sits up slower than you, not looking away from Karkat. 

“We were getting ready to play Kart or something. Wanna join?” he asks, proffering  _ your _ controller to Karkat. You focus on that. On the controller. It’s safest. 

(You  _ promised _ yourself.)

Slowly, Karkat looks from the controller to you, then back again. “No, I don’t think so. Come on, let’s go, Dave.”

“Go?”

“You heard me. We’re going, and you’re going with us.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll fucking figure it out, okay? I’m just bored as shit and I don’t want to be sitting here cooped up by the bad weather. Fuck, we’ll like. Find an antiques store or something. I love that shit.”

Before he’s dragged out, you meet Dave’s eyes through his sunglasses and it is impossible for you to figure out what his expression even means. You just know, as the door clicks closed behind him, that your skin is tingling, warm, in all the places you were pressed up against him. That if Karkat hadn’t come in, you were dangerously close to kissing Dave again. That, most importantly, you really, really wanted to.

You inhale shakily. Drag your hands through your hair.

Oh boy.

* * *

 

You still look at him sometimes and your first thought is of his skin and his touch, and the fire lurking beneath your skin flares. Of course you do. You haven’t stopped being in love with him, but you move past it. It’s fine. You’re friends again, and that’s more important than anything else.

You just have to ignore how your heart beats faster the closer Dave is to you. 

You’ve done it before.

Turns out that’s just a lot harder now that you’re acknowledging exactly what it means.

* * *

 

“-neath John. Karkat, look, just calm down, okay? It’s no big deal,” you hear as you open the door into your room, and you pause for a second. They might not have heard or seen the door open, right? Maybe? Yeah, no, your luck is terrible enough that they totally saw. You might as well go ahead and keep going.

It’s a good thing you do. Karkat’s already leveling a steely look in your direction, arms crossed and dark eyes narrowed. 

“Oh look,” Karkat says, falsely sweet. “The star of the show. Why don’t we all sit down and have a little fucking powwow about how fucking inappropriate you two are being?”

Reflexively, you scoff. “Inappropriate? I was trying to get a controller away from him.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure that putting your dick in him was only an accident the first time too. Whoops, don’t mind John fucking Egbert, he just trips and fucks over guys for a couple of years, but it’s no big deal, right? Just a little friendly misunderstanding.”

How dare he.

You feel the tension snap across your mouth and shoulders, fingers twitching in towards your palms. How  _ dare  _ he. You don’t even have words for the fury Karkat just unwittingly ignited. “A controller is a long way from fucking someone, Karkat.

“I mean, sure, yeah, but I guess I can see where you’d get that mixed up.”

“I’m not the one getting shit mixed up! What are you even saying right now that makes sense? I tried to get my controller back from him, so we’re secretly fucking?”

“Okay, woah there, guys. Calm down,” Dave interjects, and no. 

No.

You’re not about to take this from him too. 

Dave doesn’t let you get a word in, though, turning towards Karkat with a grimace. “Dude, what you said? Way messed up, so knock it the fuck off. I told you already, it’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it, okay?”

“And John?” Karkat asks like you’re not. Fucking. Right. There.

“I’ll talk to John,” Dave says, but he, at least, looks at you. “It’s between me and him, anyway, so I should be the one to say anything at all, not you. It’s not your place.”

Karkat snorts, crosses his arms, but he pivots and walks towards the door anyway. “Fine, just go fuck yourself over again. See if I fucking care.”

The door closes behind him.

You look at Dave, shoulders braced wide for confrontation. And you take a deep breath, let it out, then round on him, moving slowly, but with intent. You’re not trying to recreate your fistfight, after all, and even the thought of it makes your cheek throb. Through gritted teeth, you say, “Look, I don’t need your friends pushing in and telling me what to do, okay? It’s not their business. It’s not Karkat’s business whether or not I’m your friend.”

“He’s just. It’s Karkat’s way of showing that he cares, okay? He fusses.”

“That’s bullshit. It’s not his place, at all. We weren’t even doing anything. We were hanging out, like friends, because that’s what we are, right? I’m allowed to hang out with you and be friendly towards you, Dave. I’ve apologized and you haven’t told me to fuck off yet.”

“Damn it, John, fucking calm down. I’m my own person. I’m not about to just blindly go off and decide that everything Karkat says is correct, you know. We _ can have _ separate opinions.”

“Well shit, it doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” you say. The instant the words leave your mouth, you want them back. Your heartbeat is high in your ears and you’ve never felt closer to screaming than you do in this moment, with that completely startled look on his face and all of your frustrations coming to a head in this moment. “Look, I get it, okay? I know you’re still angry at me, and I get it. But you keep forgetting that I’m pretty pissed with myself too. I fucked up a lot, but I’m trying to fix it and I’m trying to make it up to you because I need to know that maybe. Maybe I haven’t ruined  every chance I’ve ever had with you. To be your friend again.”

Dave laughs, incredulous, disbelieving. “Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

“What?”

“You’re not trying to fix. Anything. You’re being just as fucking selfish as ever. Have you even tried talking to me about any of this? You’re just blindly assuming what I’m feeling and thinking all over again. When we started this, you never paid any attention to how I felt. You just. Assumed. You haven’t learned a damn thing! You’re still pushing me instead of just being my friend, my John, and actually trying to let this happen because we both want it to.” Dave sucks in a huge breath.

Visible even across the distance between you, his hands shake.

Dave runs his hands through his hair, agitated, and the movements jostle his sunglasses (not the ones from you, just not not not and they look wrong on him), which he tears off with a growl. “You’re just bullying your way through me again, no thought to the consequences or anything other than what you want. And if that’s how it’s going to be, you can straight up go fuck yourself.”

You reach out for him before realizing that you… god, you have no idea what to do about this. This isn’t what you wanted at all. “I didn’t mean,” you start, but Dave interrupts you with a snort.

“You never  _ meant _ to do any of it, John. You just wanted your kicks and found an easy way to get them. But I’m not letting you do that this time. Not to me.” Finally, Dave plops down beside you. He sighs roughly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. Silence spans the distance between you, until Dave shakes his head. “Sorry, I just-”

Oh no. You hold your hand out, a gentle tap against Dave’s knee. “No, no. Don’t apologize. It needed to be said.”

“Didn’t mean I needed to yell.”

“I didn’t either. So I’m sorry for that.”

“Fair.”

You’re quiet for a several heartbeats, arranging the words you want to say and discarding some of them as soon as you do. Finally, you take a deep breath. “I just. I keep wanting to put all of this behind us and pretend it never happened.”

Dave twitches. “Any of it?”

“All of the fighting, yeah. I keep wanting us to just be good again and to let all of the bad go, but it keeps coming back up.”

“Oh,” he says softly.

“I think it needs to, though. I don’t want to just. Lose you over this.” You rub your face in your hands, underneath the constant press of your glasses. “I’ve already come close enough to that.”

Warmth presses against your side.

You jump, and Dave just presses closer, shoulder to shoulder, head down. Wordless, understanding contact. You breathe. In. Out. And lean back, greedily soaking up the contact.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Dave murmurs.

“I just want to be your friend again.”

“We’re already friends again, John, and you still look at me like there’s something more you want, and we both know where that ends.”

“Sorry,” you sigh. “I don’t… mean to, I guess. I just.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I know what I want either. So let’s just. Fucking. Play some Mario Kart, sit together on the futon, and eat some terrible Mac ‘n’ Cheese, cool? Let’s let it happen, and agree that we’re both sorry about the bullshit argument we just had.”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and breathe deep. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Awesome. Come on, dude, let’s get our chill on. Penguins and polar bears ain’t got shit on us.”

You smile at him weakly, and he nudges you again, looking at you from the corner of his stupid shades. “Alright,” you acquiesce. “Alright, get the games. I’ll get the blankets out, and we can even call the girls down here, if you want.”

“Cool.”

* * *

 

One morning in late March, you walk out of the bathroom after shaving, feeling your jaw for any spots you missed (and there is one, right under your jaw, damn it), and you see Dave. He’s looking at you, pale and hands clenched uncertainly, shoulders hiked up just the barest, defensive amount.

You blink. 

He’s wearing his pointed shades again.

Hadn’t he gotten rid of those years ago? Where the hell had he been keeping them this entire time? Words crowd your throat and lungs, thoughts racing as you try to understand. There was no reason to start wearing them again, unless. You shake your head slightly and grin. “Oh dude, I thought you got rid of those terrible things! Why do you still have them?”

At that, Dave’s shoulders relax and he shrugs, loose. “Just thought I should revive an old look.”

“Okay, but I swear to god, if I hear you belting Naruto openings in the shower again, I’ll  _ find _ a way to turn the water cold.”

“Harsh, John, so harsh. What do you have against fighting dreamers anyway, huh?”

You laugh, like the sound is startled out of you. “Shut the fuck up, oh my god.” 

As you move past him into the main room, you nudge him gently, just so he knows, so he  _ knows, _ that you’re just messing with him, and he smiles, laughs too, leaning back against you. He gets it, you know. He does understand, and it makes your chest light. 

This is such a terrible fucking idea.

Behind you, the door opens. “Hey, dicksneeze, what’s up?” 

“Aw ew, Karkat. Dicksneeze, really?”

You turn in time to see Karkat shrug, hands buried in the pockets of his perpetual grey hoodie. The tall blond guy with the two-tone glasses comes in behind him and lifts one hand in greeting. You wave back, which catches Karkat’s attention. He stares at you, examining you from head to toe before snorting and returning his gaze to Dave.

Karkat’s mouth twists to the side as he looks up at Dave. “What kind of thrice-terrible weeaboo shades are those, assmunch?”

“The kind my brother got me.”

“Look, just promise me you won’t start talking about waifus or some shit like that, and we’ll be good.” Karkat’s gaze darts between you and Dave, the shades on his face, the pair on his desk, and his expression turns distinctly unfriendly before he smoothes it out again. “Got tired of the ones I got you?”

Your breath catches.

Dave, shoulders stiffening, shakes his head. “Just wanted a change, dude. I can miss home too, you know.”

“Right,” Karkat says, though you’re not sure he believes a single word of it. 

You don’t really care if he does or if he doesn’t, because you can’t stop looking at Dave. You’re staring. God, you’re staring and you can’t stop, your gaze practically burning a hole into the side of Dave’s head, and he glances your way, meets your eyes, and jerks away from it. The tips of his ears are a light pink. Exposed now because of his haircut, but you have the sudden flash memory of nosing Dave’s hair aside to kiss the soft skin behind his ear, watching the flush travel over the shell of his skin. 

You quietly release the breath that lingers, tight, in your chest.

No.

You’re reading into it.

You’re reading way, way into it. 

“I like them,” you offer, and both Dave and Karkat break the silent conversation they were having with their eyes to look at you. “Though I sort of agree about the waifus.”

Karkat sniffs. “See?”

“Man, look, don’t diss on my waifus and husbandos, okay? It is the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Thirteen, I’m about to graduate college, I’m allowed to be in love with an animated character if I want to be. And Vash the Stampede has not stopped being hot.”

You snort. “Pssh, Vash. We all know Wolfwood’s where it’s at.”

Dave opens his mouth to counter, but stops with a considering expression. “Okay, as long as we can all agree that Kamina is all variety of goals.”

“Sure, Dave, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Are we done talking about your terrible taste in anime, or can we go get breakfast now?” the other guy asks, grinning. “I really don’t want to have to explain to all of you why you all suck without caffeine and sustenance in my body first.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Sollux,” Karkat bitches, but he turns towards the door before looking expectantly back at Dave. “Come on, Strider, let’s not keep the beauty king waiting.”

“Alright, hold your horses.” Dave stops next to you, all ready for class with his favorite red hoodie. He looks down at you, cocks an eyebrow. “Wanna get some breakfast with us? Most important meal and all that jazz.”

You blink, swallow. “No, I’m fine. Gotta get to class, after all. I’ll, uh. I’ll see you later, though?”

And Dave smiles. You are caught, immediately, by the freckles on his skin, somehow notable in this instance as his expression shifts. Warmth fills your lungs. “Yeah, definitely. Catch you later, John.”

“Yeah,” you say as he leaves, the door swinging closed behind him. “Yeah, catch you later.”

* * *

 

“Hey, assbutt,” Jade whispers.

What a great way to start your birthday. You lift your head from your pillow long enough to squint at her blurred shape before letting it fall. The pillow muffles your questioning, disgruntled noise. Jade shakes you just a bit, then regrabs the railing, effectively shaking the whole bed.

“God, Jade, just get down before you make this whole thing fall down,” you say, propping yourself up on one elbow. “What?”

“Happy birthday, get dressed. We’re going on an adventure.”

“What?”

But that’s all she’s decided to explain, hopping down to make sure that Dave didn’t manage, by some miracle, to stay sleeping. You push yourself upright the rest of the way and begin your arduous climb down to the cold floor. 

“Has she told you where we going?” 

“Of course she has,” Dave yawns, shakes his head like that will clear the haze of sleep from it. “I helped her pick it out. You’ll want a hoodie and a spare change of clothes, bee-tee-dubs.”

You turn to grab the suggested clothing, tossing over your shoulder, “You  _ can  _ just say “by the way,” Dave.”

He blinks slowly at you when you pull on your shirt and turn around again, grins, soft and sleepy. “Bee. Tee. Dubs, fuck you, I’ll do what I want.”

“Of course.”

“Look, John, just get dressed and let it be a surprise.”

* * *

 

“The beach?” you ask about half an hour later, blinking at the endless, spanning stretch of water. 

“We’ve been here for four years, John. Or three, at least, in your case,” Rose says as she pulls blankets from the trunk of your car. Dave nabs a cooler. “How criminal is it that we haven’t come out here even once?”

“Pretty fucking,” Jade says.

“It’s still cold as shit,” you say. “Whose idea was this?”

There’s a whirr of a camera lens, and when you look, the flash goes off in your face. Dave lowers the camera solemnly. “Look, someone here has to put their feet in the Atlantic and Pacific, and it has to be either you or Jade because I’ve just gotten the mudwater of the Gulf and Rose hasn’t gone south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

“Dave, we’re currently south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

“Look, Rose, I know you’re all about growing as a person, but I’m trying to make a point here, so stop barging in with all of your “facts” nonsense.”

You let them squabble behind you, walking out towards the beach on feet made unsteady by the sand beneath them. A few steps onto the sand, you take your shoes and socks off, threading your fingers through the heels and walking, walking. The sand is cool, smooth, growing firmer the closer to the waves you are, and the wind itself is deafening. Pushing your hair to and fro, stiff with salt and humidity. Carefully, mindful to keep them above the waterline, you put your shoes down and tuck your socks inside.

And you walk forward into the ocean.

The ocean rushes in over your feet, cold and heart-stopping, and your face is raised to the wind, letting the salt and air carry your hair out of your eyes, fill you down to your toes with every breath you take. You walk until the waves come to your waist, stepping gingerly until your hips make it under the cold water. The waves push you, gentle and firm in turns, and you let them, for a while. Let them move you one step here and there. You turn around, and the shapes of your friends are small, but not tiny. Dave, closest to you, stands slightly out of the surf. He’s probably watching you, but it’s hard to tell with the rising sun glinting off his glasses.

You stretch your arms out.

Close your eyes.

Fall backwards into the water as though surrendering to gravity is as simple as breathing.

Ocean water covers you instantly, and you feel the force of the waves, the push and pull of the drag, even as your body instinctively acts to right itself, to bring your head above the surface again. You come up sputtering and laughing, rubbing the rivulets of water away from your eyes and spitting out the stray, unappetizing mouthful of seawater.

When you finally open your eyes, Dave is in front of you. Or more accurately, right now, his hand is. You take it, but don’t pull yourself up out of the water just yet. You look up his outstretched arm to his face.

Dave sort of smiles. Your heart beats quicker just by witnessing it. “Now, don’t you get any ideas about tugging me down into the water. I’ll fight you.”

“Dave,” you say innocently, tightening your grip, “I would never.”

He tries to brace himself, you can tell, but it’s just so easy to pull him off his balance, especially with the sucking force of the retreating waves, and how it destabilizes the sand beneath his feet. Dave falls in with you, and you keep him for the most part above water, because you’re not that big of a jackass, and in return, he piledrives you into the surf with none of the caution you used because he  _ is _ .

Above you, the sun continues to rise.

This is what you’ll remember.

Years later, when the sharp edges of classes and the daily slog of homework and tests have worn away, you will remember that day and the drive back to the college. You will remember being caked in sand and salt, sitting in the back seat with Rose driving, windows down, and your hand pressed, heel to fingertip, against Dave’s on the seat between you. You will remember staring out the window, trying and failing to keep up with Watsky as Dave hits every single syllable correctly, even though the album came out only a week or two ago.

You will remember the sky above, spangled with stars and endless, and you will remember the warmth cradled in your chest, knowing that this can still happen.

That things, that life itself, can be good.

* * *

 

“Yes! Yes, absolutely. Yeah, May twentieth is perfect. Thank you. Thank you, so, so much.”

You put down your phone.

Then you stare at it, uncomprehending, a disbelieving smile stretching across your face. Holy shit.

Dave makes a questioning noise from his place in his bunk, and you turn towards him. He has one corner of the curtains lifted, his shades pushed back on top of his head, and one eyebrow is raised. “What was all that?”

You swallow. Because this? This is the tough part. You say, “I got a job.”

“Holy shit, seriously?” He hardly waits for your nod before he’s continuing, swinging himself out of his bed and coming over to shake you gently by the shoulders. “That’s awesome!”

“In Houston.”

You’re not sure what you expect. You don’t know if you want him to be happy or upset or confused. What you get, though, is a gentle sort of confusion followed by a gentler smile. Dave snorts. “Sweet, so we get to live nearby each other for a while longer. Fair warning, though, you’re gonna fucking hate the heat and humidity.”

“I lived in Seattle for most of my life, Dave. I can handle some humidity.”

“Ah, but there you had cloud cover. In Texas, the sun relentlessly and ruthlessly fucks the ground until everyone can feel the fire of their union.”

“Please. Don’t.”

“What? You don’t want to hear about how the day fucked the ground and cheated on the night?”

“God, don’t bring songs into this, Dave, no.”

“ _ When the sun fucked the ground- _ ”

“NO.”

* * *

 

Water slides down the window pane in slow, easy drops, light filtering into the room in a grey, indistinct haze. In the distance, thunder sounds, a low, slow rumble that you swear you can feel more than hear. You lay awake in your bed, staring over the edge at the window, and wonder if the inertia you’re feeling is more than just simple exhaustion.

Carefully, you swing yourself over the edge of the bunk, feeling your way down with your feet. You don’t bother with your glasses. Hopefully, you won’t really need them. You try to be as quiet as you can, even though the unwelcome cold of the floor against your feet makes you hiss and it’s hard to see well enough to navigate without some minor difficulties. With one hand, you lift the edge of the curtain surrounding Dave’s bed.

The air in Dave’s bunk is warm and saturated in the heavy smell of sleep. You inhale almost involuntarily, processing it as you stare into the darkness beyond. Is Dave still in there?

Something shifts.

Yeah, he’s there.

You hop up onto the edge of his mattress, taking care to not hit your head or sit on him. Talk about a rude awakening.  Reaching out, you shake him gently. “Dave.”

Nothing.

Once more. “Dave.”

That nets you a grumble and a lifted head. Dave blinks at you muzzily, red eyes slowly gaining focus. “‘hn?” he mumbles, your name hardly even half a syllable. “Wha’s wrong? You okay?”

Uncertainty swarms you with all the suddenness of a thunderbolt, crawling through your insides and chest and neck. You gnaw on your lip, shake your head. It seems stupid now that you have to verbalize it. “Sorry. I just. I don’t want to … do anything today. Wanna just. Sit here and play games with me today?”

Dave looks at you steadily for a moment, his eyes blinking slightly out of sync. Finally, he nods, rubbing his face with a rasp of stubble against his palm, and you let out a tightly held breath. “Sounds cool. But it’s still ass o’clock in the morning, and I don’t wanna get up yet. C’mere and lay down.”

That sounds…

Too close, too much, crossing too many of the invisible boundaries that have delineated your relationship with Dave ever since.

Well, since.

But you want to. So.

You do. You shift yourself further up onto the mattress as Dave scoots a precious few inches towards the wall. The quarters are so cramped you have to rest your head on his shoulder, close to his chest, in order for you both to fit with any sort of reasonable comfort. Beyond the curtains, rain continues to beat staccato rhythms into the window, a rush barely audible except for the way it fills the blanks between other noises. You lay there, warm and surrounded by the smell and feel of Dave’s skin, in the small, cozy space created by the curtains and pillows crowding the bed.

Under your ear, Dave’s heartbeat sounds, steady and strong 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks in a quiet voice that rumbles low in his chest.

What is there to really talk about? You shake your head. “Nah, I just. Don’t really want to think about everything… not this.”

Dave does not immediately respond. Eventually though, he shifts, and you lift your head up enough that he can get an arm around you. Dave loops an arm around your shoulders, and you rest your cheek against him, and the world outside falls away for the time being. Held to a pause while you catch your breath.

“Yeah,” Dave murmurs. “I get that.”

* * *

 

The odd mood continues into the next day, even though you do only end up leaving Dave’s bed for food and necessities. It’s just what you thought you needed, but the unease lingers well past its welcome. You don’t have time for it. You have classes, tests. Your final semester is eating up its own time, and you have to try to not think about how it’ll all be over soon. Your time at college will be done.

Walking home from classes, you lift your face to the wind, breathe in the green smell of growing earth, and take a hard left into the music building. 

It’s muted in there as always, the smell of paper and dust and varnish sending prickles down your skin in a comforting wash. You make your way down to the practice rooms, busy as always, and wait outside one of them whose allotted time slot is almost up. The boy slips out with an apologetic, distracted smile a few minutes later. 

You sit in front of the piano, the vacuum of noiselessness all around you.

Slow and stately, you settle your hands.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Four-and- _ one _ , and the opening notes to Brahms’ Intermezzo in A Major spill from your fingers. The big, warm chords are quiet, like a sunny autumn afternoon, full of golden light and comfort and the familiar press of a loved one’s skin as you meander through the opening section. Hints of more, hints of darker begin dropping in with greater frequency until you get to the relative minor section. 

Arpeggiated passages and the complications between the triplets and quarter notes make your fingers, slightly rusty, stumble.

You shake your head and set them down again.

Breathe in.

There’s a quiet rap at the door.

You look over your shoulder, then scoot around the entire piano bench to open the door, the sudden influx of sound disorienting as always. Breathless, you say, “Hi, Dave.”

“Hey, sorry, Rose texted me that you were in here, and I was on my way back to the dorm anyway, so I figured I’d just drop in. Izzat cool, or do I need to…?” and Dave hooks a thumb over his shoulder, awkward.

“No, no, you’re fine. Come on in.” You move back, heading back over to the piano as Dave sits in his chair. You idly fiddle around on the keys, bits of jazzy improvisation mixing with lonelier pieces that are half-Chopin, half-Tschaikovsky. You don’t really know what to play, now that Dave’s in here.

You settle your fingers. Lift them. Settle them again.

Press the pedals down to hear the faint, hollow ring of the strings.

The sound of Dave’s voice shouldn’t have been startling, but it is. “You know, I always wondered why you didn’t decide to go into music.”

“I was scared to,” you admit quietly, and you hear Dave still in the corner. “I mean, I love music. I love playing the piano, and I know I’m not bad at it. But I didn’t know if I loved it enough, you know? Music... takes a sort of dedication and passion, and while I love it… I don’t know if it would have been enough.” You shrug. “And besides, what about you, Master of Turntables? Why’d you end up on photography?”

“I like the illusion of being able to stop time.”

You turn around to find him already meeting your eyes, something austere and untouchable in his expression.

“Yeah,” you say finally, into the echoing quiet. “That makes sense.”

Just then, there’s a slam against the door to the practice room, and Dave jumps a few inches, before looking, startled, at the young man on the other side. You try to stifle it, but you let out a sigh that’s probably tellingly disgruntled when you see who it is. Time to turn back to your sheet music and start packing up. Dave isn’t going to sit around and listen to you play anymore. Not with Karkat here.

Because it’s  _ Karkat _ .

Of course.

“Hey, Strider, lovely to see you,” says someone behind Karkat. Sollux pokes his head around the corner, wearing his two-color glasses as always, and grins when he spots you in the room too. “Excellent, see, we have our audience and everything.”

Karkat snorts hard, shoves his hands into the belly pocket of his hoodie. “Yeah, wonderful. They’re both here, so do you asswipes want to go get food or what?”

You blink. Trade glances with Dave, who shakes his head and spreads his hands in a sign that no, he has no clue what’s happening here either. Sollux rolls his eyes and elbows Karkat ungently. “Kay-kay, stop stalling.”

Immediately, Karkat’s gaze drops to the ground. Karkat stares at the floor like he’s trying to bore his way through it with his eyes alone. “Sorry.”

There is silence.

Karkat huffs, turns. “See I fucking told you he wouldn’t-”

“You didn’t even say his name. John probably didn’t know you were talking to him, come the fuck on,” Sollux snaps, shutting Karkat’s retreat down.

Your hands still, half-finished with shoving books into your bag. You look up, blink widely. “What?”

“I said fucking “sorry,” dipshit! Clear out your ears and try listening, I hear it’s something they teach in kindergarten and it’s all the vogue these days.”

You snort. “Way to get someone to accept an apology, dumbass.”

In a stunning display of showmanship (not), Karkat rolls his eyes hard. “Eat shit. Look, are we going to move past this and agree that we’re both kind of jerks, or do I need to get on my knees and start pounding my fist up your ass until you agree?”

“Wow, Karkat, that’s moving pretty quickly for a first date, don’t you think?” Sollux stage-whispers from nearby, and you laugh as Karkat whirls on him and starts bickering.

You shake your head. “Yeah, alright.”

Karkat stops, squints at you suspiciously. “Alright?”

“Yeah. Stop telling me to not be friends with Dave, and we’ll be fine. You’re funny.”

“Oh, funny? Funny is what I am? I’m a cocktail of rage, bad choices, and medication, shaken not stirred, and he thinks I’m funny.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Fuck you, I’m hilarious.”

Karkat keeps up his rambling almost without pause until you get to IHOP, and you join in on the fun game of “getting Karkat started,” which, you gather, is played by introducing a seemingly innocent topic, then sitting back and saying “But don’t let Karkat get started.” At which point, Karkat gleefully jumps on the bait and runs with it.

Dave orders a hamburger.

You breathe in and out and wish that didn’t feel monumental.

The night goes on and on as the four of you talk, jumping from topic to topic in an order that makes sense only in the moment. Ranging from comedy to politics to hilarious terrible job stories. Dave has been messing with the cutlery and plates for the last five minutes by the time the check comes out, and he looks at you with a wicked glint in his eyes before he pulls out a few dollar bills and begins carefully threading them into the remains of the plates.

“Dave, no,” Karkat says, horrified.

“Too late, dude. It’s a treasure hunt.”

“You’re  _ such  _ a dick,” Sollux says, impressed. “Pass me some, I gotta join in.”

“You’re both terrible,” you tell them, hiding your laughter. 

Dave snorts and passes you a one. “Get off the high ground, Egbert, I know you’re dying to help out.”

“I can’t believe that I’m the only human being with any kind of decency at this table,” Karkat mutters.

“Kay-kay, seriously, nut up or shut up. Shove a tip in.”

* * *

 

In a move that surprises no one, Karkat neither nuts up nor does he shut up.

* * *

 

By the time you split from Karkat and Sollux, tiredness tears at the corners of your eyes, held rawly awake by the force of being vertical and not much else. You follow Dave down the hallway to your room, gaze fixed on the smooth, exposed skin of the nape of his neck, the curve up to his ear and jaw, still so new and yet so well-known. Heat blooms within you, the sense-memory of his skin beneath your mouth so real your lips begin to tingle.

He closes the door behind you, and you stare at him unabashedly, lit by the bright dorm lights, haloed by the glow of his blond hair. You take a deep breath. “Hey, Dave? Have you ever thought about… trying this again?”

Dave looks at you, solid and expectant. Waiting. You swallow.

“Like. Trying us again,” you say, forcing the words out past the lock in your throat.

His head tilts to the side, bangs falling across his face. The glint of the overhead lights travels across the surface of his pointed shades, blocking his eyes from your view. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, and it stings, hearing it from Dave, but the hurt is something expected. “Yeah, I don’t know if it is either. I just wondered.”

“Didn’t say I hadn’t thought about it,” Dave murmurs, and your head jerks up.

You search Dave’s face for anything you can glean, any further information lingering in the familiar contours of his cheeks and jaw, but he’s holding himself very carefully still. Finally, you look away. Swallow roughly. Turn around to face your bed, because your heart is beating a million times a minute, and if you keep looking… 

If you keep looking, you might do something stupid.

Dave continues, quietly, “Just that I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Probably not,” you say, equally soft, and climb into your bed.

* * *

 

You can’t stop looking at him.

You thought you were over this, that you were better than this. That you wouldn’t do this to him again. But you can’t stop looking and you can’t stop thinking about how wonderful it was. How much you liked kissing him, how much you liked the noises he made while you two had sex. You know what he looks like while he’s coming undone, and the fire, banked, now burns within you again, crawling up your spine and into your mind, and you have to stop. More than that, you don't always think about the sex. It would be easier if you did. But you want him, in the simple, uncomplicated way that you want someone to love.

You have to stop.

You can’t do this again.

* * *

 

Time flies too quickly for you to be comfortable with it. Soon, too soon, it is the end of April. Sooner still, it is May. 

Soonest of all, you begin to pack up boxes of the life you had in this one place for the last three years. There’s no telling where everything has managed to get off to, and you find several shirts and discarded DVDs in places you never would have looked otherwise. Dave, too, packs, and the dorm room looks less and less yours the closer you get to leaving.

You look across the room at Dave, and there is something awful about seeing him, blonde and pale and stark, against the empty wall of the dorm room.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Dude, we have to cover up these holes in the wall. Why didn’t we just use sticky tack?”

Fuck, he’s right. You lick your lips, nervous. “Everyone knows that doesn’t work! Look, let’s just get some toothpaste or spackle and hope for the best.”

“God, that’d better work, because I do  _ not _ want to get stuck with room fees all because of some measly wall tacks.”

* * *

 

Graduation day feels like it should be important. Like it should stand out, somehow, from other days; the lights brighter; the people more chipper. You just find yourself wishing that you could sit next to your friends, itchy and uncomfortable in your robes.

You stand under the glaring lights.

Move to the stage.

Your name is called, the cord on your hat (mortarboard, whatever) is moved to the side, and you feel no more prepared for anything than before. You shake the dean’s hand, your dad’s, feel yourself enveloped by a hug. You spend your last evening at your college with your friends, curled up in a knot of limbs that doesn’t cry, doesn’t promise a million Skype calls, doesn’t feel the ache of this separation like a cut from a knife.

You leave for Texas first thing the next morning.

* * *

 

It’s a whirlwind of a couple of days, between the driving and getting your first apartment set up. Signing the lease is bizarrely easy and terrifying, which is a combination you’re swiftly realizing is going to be your relative normal for the next few months or years, and Dad helps you unload boxes from your rented Uhaul hitch quickly. 

“Think you’re going to like it here?” Dad asks as you bring in the last of the boxes. You set it down by the couch, mouth ticked to the side.

“Yeah, I think so. Should be pretty great.”

“And you and Dave?”

You take a second to think about it. There’s a lot you could say, and you haven’t really kept your Dad too much in the loop, just because trying to unravel it all is too large of an undertaking more than once. Finally, though, you say, “I think we’re good now. Honestly. I apologized over the New Year’s Party, and now… Well.. Now things are okay between us again. Okay enough that we can live barely ten minutes away from each other and it’ll be fine.”

Dad claps his hand on your shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. Fixing things couldn’t have been easy, but I’m glad you two worked it out.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you say, and you’re not getting choked up, you’re  _ not _ . You swallow past the weird lump in your throat and turn to survey your… mostly-still-in-boxes apartment. “I don’t… Is it weird that I’m nervous about this?”

“Not at all. That’s perfectly normal. Just remember, I’m just a phone call away, if you need me, and Skype is a thing that exists.” Dad smiles at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

You see him off to the airport the next morning. You come home to silence and darkness, and you inhale deeply, spread your hands, say, “Well, I guess that’s that, then,” and get to work unpacking.

* * *

 

A few hours later, there’s a knock at your door. You straighten, set aside the picture you pulled out of one of the boxes (an old candid of you sleeping that Dave took once), and go to answer. The door swings open, and on the other side stands Dave.

He lifts a hand. “Yo.”

You blink, then smile. “Oh, hey Dave. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Yeah, I wanted it to be a surprise, but I can leave if I gotta.”

“Nah, it’s whatever. Come inside.”

“Hey, nice apartment,” Dave says once you let him in, closing the door behind you.

“Thanks,” you say for lack of anything else to really say, which is really asinine. You swallow, cough to cover up your awkwardness, which is real smooth, and gesture to the living room. “Come on in and sit down, if you’d like.”

Dave brushes past you and takes a seat on one of the chairs your Dad gave you. He pulls off his shoes before folding his legs up into the chair too, settling down like he has nowhere else to be. You suppose, for the time being at least, that he really doesn’t. “I do like, actually. Wanna play games or watch something? I’ll pony up for food.”

You make your way over to sit next to him. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“How’re you liking it so far?” Dave asks, pulling out his phone and tapping through a few apps. “In Texas, that is.”

“The weather’s been great, actually,” you say. “I like the whole “being warm” part of May. It’s a bit weird, but I like it.”

Dave just laughs.

“What?”

“Ohoho yeah, you think it’s nice now,” Dave says, grinning. “Give it a couple of days and get back to me on how “nice” the weather is then.”

“Fine. I will,” you respond snittily, wrinkling your nose at him. “And I’m sure I’m going to love it just as much.”

* * *

 

“Dave, this is  _ miserable _ ! How the fuck do you guys stand this?” you whine less than a month later, arms stretched out to your sides like the increased surface area is going to help you cool down faster.

Dave chuckles, contorting himself in the chair he has claimed as his own to look at you. “I dunno, man, it’s all practice I guess, but you’re doing a pretty good impression of a Texan bitching about the June heat. All you need now is a drawl and a pair of obnoxiously tooled cowboy boot and you’ll be golden.”

“You hate those stereotypes, Dave. And you don’t own a pair of cowboy boots, so you can’t talk.”

“Yes I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I so... don’t, fine, you’re right, but Bro does and it totally transfers full rights onto me.”

“No, it doesn’t, Dave. That’s now how cowboy boot ownership works.”

Dave snorts, pointing at you accusingly. “And  _ how _ , exactly, would  _ you _ know the fine intricacies of cowboy boot ownership? It’s a very complex subject, especially here in Texas, and you’re a damn quinoa eating, fair-trade Yankee!”

“Are we back to me being wonderbread again?”

“Yes! I am a homegrown Southern boy who ate my biscuits and gravy growin’ up, and I’ll be damned if I get lectured on cowboy boots by the likes of you.”

“Oh okay, I see, but you know that now that I live here, I have to know all of this stuff? It’s like non-native English speakers having to learn all the weird grammar rules of English that we don’t.”

“Fuck you and your participles, you will not distract me from the boots.”

“That you don’t own.”

“That…. I don’t own and never plan on owning.”

You grin. “Yeah that’s what I fucking thought. Give it up, Dave. Neither of us are going to have a pair of tooled cowboy boots, but we can still bitch about the weather as much as we want to.”

“We’ll work on your accent,” Dave says sagely. “In fact, I have a great idea. To get you in the Western Mood-”

“Who needs to get into the “Western Mood?”” you ask, complete with air-quotes, and Dave just ignores you.

“-let’s go ahead and watch one of my favorite movies. Blazing Saddles.”

You snort. “Alright, put it on.”

“Get off the floor and up on the damn couch, Egbert, I’m not going to be the only sad sack on this fucking chair.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” you say, peeling yourself off the floor. You look down just to check, and yeah, there’s faint evidence of sweat marks from your back. Texas is fucking ridiculous. But you shake your head and plop down on the couch beside Dave anyway as he finds the movie. It’s a good way to spend an evening. You get takeout and jostle Dave with each funny moment in the movie, laughing and close in a way you thought you had once ruined. 

You didn’t.

That still amazes you.

But the movie eventually ends, and you stand with a stretch. “It’s getting late,” you say. “Need a ride back to your apartment?”

“Nah, s’cool. Was gonna ask if I could just stay here overnight.”

Your breath stutters on the inhale. Not quite so dramatic as a gasp. It’s not a big deal, you tell yourself. You’ve shared a room with Dave for the majority of the last several months. Having him in a space that is predominately  _ yours _ is going to be no different. Still, you lick your lips, ask, "Is it okay for you be staying here? With Bro?"

Dave blinks up at you, then down at his phone and the motion is oddly avoidant, even as he taps out something in a text message. "What? Yeah. Bro says it’s cool as long as you keep your mitts to yourself."

You smile, even though something still isn't ringing right about this. "I think I can handle that."

Red eyes jerk up to your face, jitter sideways and away. Dave swallows roughly and laughs. His voice is stilted and odd as he says, "Good. You. Do that. Yeah, be all honorable and don't violate my precious virgin body, my lord." It smooths out to his typical sarcastic drawl by the end, and you roll your eyes.

"Of course not, Dave. For one, your virgin body is long since gone. For two, you know I can keep myself under control. I’m not some kind of animal, after all."

“Wow, John. I had no idea you bought so heavily into the terrible social construct of virginity.”

“Oh my god, Dave, shut up and get changed,” you say, laughing. “I’ll go get you some blankets and pillows to use.”

“Yeah, and make sure they’re emu feathered, okay? You know I can only sleep on the best,” Dave hollers after you.

Rolling your eyes, you head towards your closet, digging through the assorted not-quite mess in there for the extra blankets your Dad made sure you had. Dave, for all he grew up in Texas, and for all that you’re  _ in _ Texas, gets cold really easy, so you make sure to nab the comforters and a pair of pillows you have tossed in there. You gather them all up, peering around the corners as you make your way through your apartment.

Dave is shirtless.

Not bottomless, thank god, but he’s facing you,  wearing a familiar baggy pair of sweatpants that only accentuate the curve of his waist and chest.

You want to kiss him so badly you can’t breathe.

Of all the things you shouldn't do, this is probably the biggest one. Highlighted and underlined, bold in big, block letters, a score struck into it with one of Bro's katanas. You watch him as he gets ready for bed, pulling a new shirt on in a smooth motion, and even from your place by the door, you can see the gentle curve of his ear, the rise and fall of his breaths.

You shouldn't go over and kiss him.

You want to. More than anything, the urge to press your lips against his skin burns in you, sending washes of flushed interest along your body.

But if this is anything at all, a  _ fraction _ of the frustration Dave must have felt around you -always wanting and never trusting yourself enough to touch-, it's little wonder why he seemed so tense all of the time. Your hands clench in your blankets, nails digging into the soft fabric.

No.

Not again.

You're not going to do this again.

If he wants to be just friends, you will satisfy yourself with that. No matter how much you might want more again. You fucked up last time. You moved too fast and pushed too far and you will not ask for anything more from him now. Not when you're just now getting him back.

You breathe out. It isn't easier with the reminder, but it does make the idea of going over and kissing him, pressing Dave against the couch and twisting your bodies together until everything becomes hot and desperate, somehow easier to set to the side. You fucked up once. You don't get more chances now. You’re better than that, and the way you want Dave now is… different. You’re different.

“Hey,” you say, breaking yourself out of your own haze with a shake of your head and stepping forward into the living room. “Found the blankets. Let get you all set up.”

Dave takes the blankets from you, carefully positions the two pillows you found, before artlessly tossing the blankets on top of them in a rumpled heap. Holding his hands out to form the photographer’s box, he squints over the tops of his shades. “Perfect, there we go.”

You indelicately muffle your snort, and Dave wrinkles his nose at you. The moment stands for a bit, warm and friendly, before you cough, gesture vaguely, and turn around. “So I uh. Yeah, good night.”

“Going to bed already?”

You look over your shoulder. “Yeah? It’s late. Why?”

“I thought we’d watch something until we kind of passed out on the couch,” Dave says with a shrug, moving over to you. He puts his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants, canting the loose fabric even further down his hips. You inhale slowly and do not look down.

“Nah, I figured we would just hang out from breakfast until dinner tomorrow and laze around or something. That couch isn’t exactly big enough for two people, unless you want back problems.”

“That, coming from the champion of “let’s fall asleep literally anywhere mildly horizontal” is really fucking hilarious, let me tell you. Well fine, if that’s the way you’re going to act about it, you don’t get to keep these,” Dave says, and you flail ineffectively for a moment before he steals your glasses. You squint at the blur that is Dave, scowling even as he laughs. 

“Hey, I need those, asshole!”

Dave makes a considering noise. “These? These glasses? You need these?”

You swipe for them, ending up with nothing more than a handful of air. “Yes, those. Don’t be a dick, Dave.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Here, I’ll even put them back on for you. Just close your eyes so the leggys don’t get stuck in your face, okay? I don’t want to have to drive you to the hospital because I put your eye out.”

“You could just give them back to me and I could put them back on myself, you know. That is a thing that could happen,” you say, reaching out, but Dave only waggles your glasses at you until you sigh. “Fine, fine.”

You close your eyes.

There’s a long pause.

You tilt your head, hands still slightly outstretched. “Dave?”

A warm puff of air against your face. Your skin pricks with anticipation, and you twitch backwards just a bit before forcing yourself still. It’s just Dave. That’s it. He’s just making you wait either a, because he’s a jerk, or b, because he’s a mega-jerk and likes making you stew in the anticipation.

(Your heartbeat ratchets up another couple of notches.)

You think you hear Dave swallow. And then-

It hasn’t happened in so long that it honestly takes you a moment to recognize the feeling of Dave’s lips against your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout here to an ex-roommate of mine whose voice still reminds me of Karkat's.


	10. Waiting to Call You Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are the wind beneath my wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Antics" by Jubilants

Your name is Dave Strider, and holy shit have you just fucked up beyond all hope of recognition.

This is a FUBAR of absolutely catastrophic proportions. This is World War One trenches of Passendale levels of fucked the fuck up. You are in the mire here, surrounded by the mud, detritus, and corpses of your latest ill-thought-out attempts at breaking the line, and you’re sinking further every ticking second.

You can’t count the ways you have absolutely, one hundred percent, irrevocably messed up.

But you're kissing John again anyway. You're not totally sure if that's the part that's a mistake, or if him not kissing back is the mistake. Maybe both? Neither? But either way, John is only tense with surprise for a single moment before he relaxes. John’s hand slides around to cup your jaw as he tilts sweetly into you, and the noise that comes out of you is criminal and could probably get you arrested for indecency. You don’t know what you’re doing. Which is not exactly true. You know what you’re doing. You know precisely what you’re doing, because you’re opening your mouth and deepening the kiss, coaxing wet little gasps from John’s throat.

It’s easy.

God, it’s so easy.

It shouldn’t be.

It’s so easy to just lean into him, to drop the hand still holding his glasses to curl around his hip, the legs of the glasses a firm counterpoint to the give of John’s skin. You drag your teeth over the soft swell of his lower lip, suck gently before releasing it and chasing it back, a long sinuous string of movement. John’s hand curls around the back of your neck, his other on your bicep.

You feel his fingers like a brand. You feel _him_ like a brand, like fire, like you’ll carry the impression of his body against yours for everyone to see.

You pull back.

Immediately, you wish you hadn’t. John is breathing hard, and his mouth is wet and bitten-red and you just want to sweep back in, crowd into his space until all there is is you, until you are everything he feels, and John opens his blue eyes, made only bluer by the flush suffusing his skin, slowly to search your face. Then he frowns.

Shit.

Shit, shit.

“Dave.”

 _Shit_.

“Sorry, but….”

_Fuck, you’ve fucking ruined it all._

“Can I have my glasses?”

Right.

Right, of course.

You clear your throat, mumbling something that even you don’t hear, and as soon as you fade back into silence, you’re not sure what you said were words at all. Shit, you’re still holding his glasses. You shove them at him, but like, not shove-shove, just awkwardly hold them out for John to take. You should take a step back, but John’s grip on your arm hasn’t relented, even though he’s finally let go of your neck. God, you’re a fucking disaster of a human being, and it’s honestly surprising that the earth itself hasn’t come to put you out of your misery.

 _Please_ , you think desperately, your gaze on the floor, _Now would be an excellent time to spontaneously be eaten by the ground. Do me a solid._

(The universe, unsurprisingly, is unforthcoming about when your inevitable demise will be. The fucking inconvenient piece of shit.)

John takes the glasses quietly, and in the corner of your eye, you can see him put them back on. He sighs. He’s still close enough that the breath brushes the hollow of your throat. “Okay, now can you stop panicking and look at me?”

“Nope,” you squeak. “Too busy panicking.”

“Dave.”

You look up.

Of course you do. How can you not, when John is right here, when you can still feel him against you?

You’re just going to drown in him again.

“Look,” you say, and you swallow. “Let’s just. Slow down for a second, yeah? That was. A lot. All of a sudden”

John breathes in, nods. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s slow down a bit. Sorry.”

He lets your arm go. You miss him immediately, even though he hasn’t moved away. But you have to, you have to get out of his space, because this close? You’re just going to kiss him again, and you’re not going to stop. You’re going to keep going and keep pushing until you feel his cock against you, within you, because you can imagine it. You know what it feels like, and the sense-memory of it is a determined recurrence within you.

 _It would be so easy_.

John steps back.

Your hand falls to your side. It takes everything you have to not close that gap again.

You drag your hand through your hair, ruffling it aimlessly. “So, uh,” you start. “That. Was something.”

He’s watching you, eyes keen behind his glasses, a little, confused furrow between his brows. Slowly, he agrees, “Yeah, it was.”

And.

That’s it.

That’s all there is.

Silence stretches between you, punctured only by your breaths, by awkward shifting from foot to foot, and it crawls within you, within your skin, unsettled and nervous, and you finally, finally give up, because he’s _not saying anything_ . Fuck, you just kissed John again, and he’s not even saying anything, and you should just _leave_. You hook your thumb over your shoulder, about-facing about as abruptly as you can manage. Your voice, strangled, from a distance, says, “I should just-”

A hand wraps around your wrist, and your world, damn it, narrows down to that point. “Dave, don’t.”

You stop pulling away.

And John continues before you can keep pulling yourself together enough to react more than that. “Please, just stay the night. It’s late, we’re tired, and honestly, we need to talk about this. Before either of us has a chance to overthink.”

Are those black spots in front of your eyes? It can’t be getting that hard to breathe, but the world before you is wavering past your shades, and you close your eyes. That only brings John’s touch into sharper focus, but you feel less like throwing up. Less like collapsing where you stand. Fear still has you by the spine, though, tense throughout your whole body.

“Please, don’t run away,” John says.

God, if only it was that easy. You shake your head, look back at him.

“Let’s talk,” he says again, and when you make a silent move towards the living room, John’s grip on your hand tightens again.

“No,” John says. “Come here.”

Before he pulls you on, towards his room. You consider pulling away, but you let him lead you, like you always do, to his bedroom. The sight of it sets your heart pounding again, a second layer of stress to add to the fucking compacted and compiled rest of it that you’re struggling to get hold of. John, for once, notices, and he smiles with a furrow between his brows, pauses in front of his bed that he sits down on without pushing you onto it first or pulling you after him. Your wrist is still in his loose hold.

“Nothing is going to happen, okay? But I’d like to talk in here, if that’s alright with you. If not, that’s fine, and we can go back out to the living room, but, I. I want to talk in here. It feels. Better? Appropriate?” John shakes his head. “I don’t know how to put it.”

“Alright,” you say, though you don’t know how loud you are, heart thundering in your ears. “Alright, let’s talk, that sounds good. Right? Talking is great.”

“Good.”

You sit down next to him, the heat of his thigh radiating next to yours.

And nothing happens.

Do you start?

Does he?

Talking just doesn’t happen this easily. Normally, you chatter on long past the threshold of reasonability, continuing conversations where most people end until they all just roll into each other, but this? Now? Now you can’t draw anything up past your lungs, all your words mixed up and heavy, and your throat locked to saying them.

Should you be leaving?

Shouldn’t it have always been you? Leaving?

Slowly, you extricate yourself from John’s grasp, which is more difficult than you thought it would be, since losing his fingers around your wrist makes them feel incomplete, but you still scoot to the other side of the bed, dig your phone out of your pocket where it’s digging in uncomfortably, and set it to the side. You hike your knees up to your chest and rest your chin on them, waiting. Your thoughts are far less silent than you are, though.

He’s not trying to get rid of you. In fact, when you tried to leave, he pulled you closer. He asked you stay and was almost insistent on you not leaving. He wasn’t drunk, you know that, and the fact that your mind even jumps to that possibility makes you sick with yourself. You’re… You’re so confused. Since when has _John_ been the one to want to talk about things? John used to get so uncomfortable with the idea and you never really let yourself think you’d be able to talk openly about your relationship. Not in any serious capacity, anyway.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table, and you glance over at it, not surprised when you see Bro’s name on the display. You weren’t necessarily supposed to go home tonight, but you know that Bro would wait up for you, would have checked for you when he first got in, and he’s probably pacing around the apartment like a caged animal right now. You haven’t texted him the “oh shit get me out of here” phrase you guys have, but it’s Bro. He worries. In fact -and the thought makes you snort in amusement- he probably thinks that you went and did something stupid, like hook up with John again.

John shifts on the other side of the bed, inhaling as he draws his legs up, sitting with them crossed at the ankles.

You let the phone go off until its clattering finally stops, nerves causing your pulse to pound hard, your body lit up in tingling waves of fatalistic panic. It’s not making actual noise, just vibrating, but you still feel the shock of it in your heart, in your nerves. Pulling your knees closer to you, you wait. And wait. And wait.

John shifts on the bed, probably closer to you, a suspicion that is confirmed when a warm hand covers your shoulder, travels up to your face, gentle in a way that you’ve never known him to be. (That thought just makes your heart hurt, twisting with every pulse until you can’t breathe anymore. You apparently haven't known a lot about him. But you _do_ know him. You know he can be gentle. Hasn’t he been showing you this these last few months?

Why else would you even be here again if he hadn’t?)

“Dave, are you okay? Did I do something bad?”

You start to shake your head, then you rethink, lick your lips and try again. “I don’t think so. I’m just… trying to decide what I’m supposed to be doing here. Or how I’m supposed to feel.”

John is quiet long enough that you open your eyes. He’s chewing on his lip, looking upset and guilty. “I didn’t… force you into that, did I?”

"No."

He jerks his head up, eyes wide with surprise. "I... Didn't?"

"No. That was-" a mistake, you almost say, but you bite that back, look away. It's too close to a few other remarks you've made about him, and this isn't the time. It’s now how you really feel, anyway. "That was me. Doing that. I just. Felt like it."

When you look up at John again, he's just watching you. His eyes are serious and strangely determined and you... Well, you're not sure what to do about that. He's never really looked at you like that until after you guys broke up. Like you mean something, are someone. Like you are more than what you can do for him.

And you are.

It’s time that you start letting yourself think that he believes it too.

"It won't happen again," John says quietly.

And that surprises you. You twitch, wishing you had your shades to hide your widened eyes. You hate it when he sees you like this, all vulnerable and easily injured. "It... won't? Why not? Didn't you want this to...?"

He makes a sharp gesture, then drags his hand along the back of his neck. "Yeah, I want you back, but." John waves at you, where you're hunched and curled on the far side of the bed and you're beginning to see where he is having a problem with this, even though you didn't think that _he_ would be the one finding this situation to be a problem, per se. He got what he wanted from you, didn't he? "I only want you if you actually want to be here okay? I don't want to force you into this again."

You stare at him. Awkwardly, you shrug your shoulder. "I was the one who came onto you just now, dude."

"But how much of that was you actually wanting me and not feeling like it was something I wanted and you were required to give?"

"I-" - _wanted it_ , you want to say, and it's not untrue, you did want him again. You wouldn't have taken his glasses, teased him with them, kissed him if you hadn't. But at the same time, you had seen the way he had been watching you all night, and had wondered, quietly, in the back of your mind, if this was how things were going to always be between you two.

You frown and John smiles sadly. "See? You can't be sure." He rubs his face with a rough sigh. "Shit. I'm sorry, Dave, I just. I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," you interrupt. "You didn't start that last one, I did. You don't have anything to worry about."

Your phone buzzes again; both you and John watch it, and it's like the tension in the room has both increased and fled. Something needs to be done, you know that, but what? You never know what to do, not really, and this isn't something you can go with your gut on because your gut is telling you to get back together with John while your head is replaying all of his avoidant and terrible behavior and fuck it all, you're just confused. The phone stops buzzing, and John returns his gaze to you.

"Dave?"

"Hm?"

"...I know I've only mentioned this once before, but... hear me out, okay?" John twists his fingers together absently, a stress-gesture you must have seen him do a hundred times while studying. While arguing and fighting with him.

Realizing that John's waiting on some sort of signal, you nod, letting him know that you're listening.

"How about," and he holds up a hand to forestall the interruption you're not going to give, "we try dating. For real this time."

You suddenly understand why he thought you were going to interrupt.

"And I mean. We don't start out with this stuff." He waves his hand between the two of you. It takes you a second to realize he's including the bed and every touch that still burns on your skin and guilt like a vine creeps up your lungs to strangle you. "We just. We do it slow. Hand-holding, kissing, going to movies and dinners together. Hanging out, you know? And we only move onto the sex stuff when you feel like I'm not trying to trick you back into being an easy lay. When you feel ready."

Picking at the comforter in front of you is a good way to avoid John's eyes while you think, you find. "And you're actually going to call me your boyfriend now?"

You hear John sigh, but you don't think it's out of exasperation. Maybe. Maybe it is. "And do all of this stuff in front of other people, yes. Minus the sex. We can do that eventually on our own. Without an audience."

Your mouth twitches. You might even, generously, call it a smile. "Are you sure? Bro might want to make sure you're not using me or shit like that. With photographic evidence and everything."

"Definitely not if Bro's watching. And you know he'd make a porn out of us."

"We can't help it if we're hot." You shrug, then look up at John. "Sorry, that joke was a bit too soon, wasn't it?"

He shakes his head, dark eyes intent on you. "Not if you feel like it wasn't. I'm operating on your schedule here, okay? What you say goes and what I say does matter, but not as much in the scheme of things. You're running the ship here. Just you. I sort of can't be trusted to not..." John casts around for the term he's looking for before he sighs and waves his hand. "Hurt you, I guess. Fall back into old patterns. I just really don't want to do that to you again and I know that it really was all my fault."

You gnaw on your lip.

You… don’t know what to do. The options are all spinning around you. You could date him again. You could just say yes and be done with it and lean back in and kiss him and suffer through the cling of fear and paranoia that would grip you tight forever and never let you go. But if you said no, you’d never… It would ruin everything. You’d never kiss him again, and resisting that has already been hard enough.

He asked you, though.

John _asked_ if you wanted to date him.

That’s what you keep coming back to time and time again as your thoughts whirl. He _asked_.

John is asking you out.

There’s really only one thing to say to that.

“Let me think about it,” you tell him, and he practically deflates. You twitch towards him, concerned by the sudden movement before you realize that it’s relief that’s made John slump like that. He’s smiling faintly, nodding, all of the tension bled from him, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Alright, that’s fine. Take your time, Dave. I don’t want to rush you.”

Holy shit. You stare at him, trying to gauge his sincerity, because it would be simple, child’s play for him to lie to you here and now, with your lips still tingling from contact with his. John could have just said no, or that he wanted an answer now, or any number of things, but. You honestly weren’t expecting the yes, and now that you have it, you’re not sure how to proceed. Forward, you suppose. Always forward, even when this could easily be a step backwards. Or sideways. Shit, you’ve been staring for a while now, you should actually answer John or say something.

“Well, okay then,” you say, and even you can hear how flat your voice is.

Nailed it.

John blinks at you.

“Sorry.” You rub the back of your head, dragging your nails against your scalp to ground you. “I’m just surprised, I guess. Shouldn’t be. But-”

“No, I get it,” John says with a muted smile. “Trust me, I get it. Is there anything else you can think of that we _need_ to talk about tonight? It’s really, really late, and we should get to bed.”

“Am I still sleeping on the couch?”

“You.. don’t have to.” John pats the bed, then flushes what should be an unattractive shade of red but you’re fucking gone for him, so it just ends up being endearing. “I mean, we could share.”

You look at his hand, brown against the pale grey of his sheets. Then up at him, raising one eyebrow With Significance.

“I can keep my hands to myself,” John says with a wry twist to his smile. “I promise.”

You breathe out. This is a terrible idea. You know that. But the thought of being able to sleep next to John is apparently too much for your stupid reptilian hindbrain to resist, because when you open your mouth, you say, “Alright.”

Arranging yourselves is kind of an interesting task. You’re not sure how far is too far, how close is too close, and the familiar-unfamiliar feel of John’s body in the bed next to you is a tease of sensation, a subtle pull of gravity. John lies flat on his back, you on the bed against the wall, curled in a parenthesis on your side. Everything is too much or not enough; the blankets too hot yet not heavy enough; John is too near yet not touching you; the fan doesn’t make the right kind of white noise; you can’t settle your breathing.

You reach out in short, stilted motions, to curl your hand in the hem of his shirt, and even that feels like an imposition.

“Hey, Dave? Can I… Do you mind if I get more comfortable?” John asks, sudden and loud in the quiet room. Your hand withdraws instinctively. Too much. Must have been too much.

You swallow, and even still, your voice comes out sticky. “No, no, go for it.”

Honestly, you don’t know what to expect.

But John rolls over so he’s not facing you, draws your retreating arm over his waist, and lets out a long sigh as he scoots backwards, until he is flush against you. A long, continuous line of warmth. You don’t know who’s more tense, you or him. But John is the master of falling asleep in the most difficult of circumstances, and he proves this again, because within a quarter hour of laying down, he’s out like a light. And you are left there.

Awake.

John is warm against your stomach and chest, ribcage expanding with each deep inhale,  and his fingers are threaded through yours with a tenderness you didn’t know he possessed. Okay, that's a lie. You knew. You've known. He just. Never showed it like this. Or maybe you didn't notice. Carefully, you let yourself nose against his neck, kiss the knob of his spine that juts out there. You pull back, and a swirl of ink in the corner of your vision, almost indistinguishable in the darkness of the room, catches your eye. Gently, you touch your lips to the tattoo. It feels no different than normal skin, of course it doesn’t, but you swear that you can feel the dark whorls against your lips anyway.

_You are the wind beneath my wings._

The words that you know are there make your back twinge in a phantom awareness, like the wings and wind there are shifting with a strange acknowledgment of their companion tattoo.

You are absolutely absorbed in the way his heat radiates against your skin. He’s tucked against you, his feet tangled between your calves and ankles, his chest pressing back against yours with every breath he takes. John is just. So warm, and having him laying like this in your arms is absolutely natural. For the first time in what feels like months, you feel like you might be able to fall asleep easily. Your fingers flex in John’s grasp, uncomfortable because you shouldn’t be comfortable. It’s John. The guy who set out to break your heart and what the hell are you even doing, sleeping in the same bed as him?

John’s hand tightens around yours.

Just that simple motion, him squeezing your hand, makes you stop, brings your mind to a ungentle standstill. With your arm looped around his chest, you breathe out, in. Let yourself inhale the heavy, drugging scent of John sleeping and allow your eyes to drift closed. John is overwhelming to your senses, pressed against you from head to toe, every movement you make brushing against him in some way. It shouldn't be soothing. Your thoughts scatter, trying to build up momentum again.

You tuck your face into the curve of his neck, aware of his tattoo against your mouth and cheek and somehow comforted by its presence. By his presence. With a formless murmur, John shifts closer to you.

He hasn’t let go of your hand.

Between one breath and the next, you slip over the uncertain, hazy edge of unconsciousness.

He’s still there when you wake up in the morning.

You feel like that shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, to see the faint lines of sunlight creeping across his bare shoulders, to feel his warmth all around you, but you can still count the number of times you’ve woken up in the same bed as him on your hands alone. It’s his house, though, and his bed.

A stir.

John wakes up. He blinks, the sweep of his eyelashes dark against his skin, before turning over. It’s a smooth motion, done without hardly disturbing your arm across his waist, and you’re trying to not pull back, ready for the censure in his eyes. Censure that you don’t get when John sees you there, blue eyes muzzy and unfocused for a moment before he smiles, uncertain, and fuck, it’s the same lopsided smile that you’ve loved for years, and he’s still John, when it all boils down, and he-

“Good morning, Dave.”

-might have been telling you the truth last night. You close your eyes; your heart is beating straight out of your body, because maybe, just maybe, he might actually love you too. You know better than to hope. You’ve learned better than that after everything that’s happened, but a small kernel of it nestles inside you anyway, glowing soft and warm, and you don’t have the heart to dig it out just yet.

* * *

 

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 12:15 --

EB: hi, dave. i wanted to know if it’s okay if i talk to the girls about… us.

What a way to open up the conversation. You sigh, leaning your head against your hand, and wish that maybe, somewhere in college, you had learned a little bit of tact. It’s not like Dave will particularly hold it against you or anything, but there has to be better ways to bring it up than just bluntly, like that.

Then again, you’ve wasted your entire weekend just wondering what to say to him at all. Maybe blunt is just the way it has to be. Hopefully he takes it the right way.

Your phone vibrates.

TG: …  
TG: yeah duh why wouldn’t it be  
EB: there’s no reason it shouldn’t be! i just wanted to make sure before i did it. open communication, remember?  
TG: right right yeah of course  
TG: sorry im just surprised i guess  
TG: i didn’t honestly think youd want to talk about it with them  
EB: they’re our friends, dave.  
EB: and we’re doing this differently this time. i’m not going to make the same mistakes, and that includes talking to them about me asking you out.  
TG: just new ones  
EB: ?  
TG: mistakes  
EB: yeah, probably. mistakes are inevitable. but i can at least make sure that this won’t be one of them.  
TG: i wont stop you  
TG: besides i was gonna message them later today too so this is probably a good thing  
TG: that way they dont get upset and start bombarding you out of nowhere about how youre backsliding into bad habits or whatever psychobabble lalonde would start in with  
TG: i can hear it now  
TG: texas man allows continuation of potentially terrible relationship because of college roommates gorgeous smile news at eleven complete with frog and boiling water metaphor  
EB: yikes.  
EB: you think my smile is gorgeous?  
TG: way to take away the important information there john  
EB: it’s part of my charm, dave.  
TG: clearly duh

But that’s pretty much the permission you were looking for, even though your phone keeps buzzing, Dave unleashing the red miles of text that he’s so fond of as he spins himself onto a tangent. You don’t look at it for now, instead tabbing over to Rose’s username.

You breathe in.

Out.

Type.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 12:27 --

EB: hey, rose, uh.  
EB: can we talk?  
EB: nothing bad! just wanted to know if you’re available.

You wait for a few minutes, tinkering with some of the utensils in your kitchen as your phone lights up again and again with Dave’s rambling, but nothing from Rose. With a sigh, you tap off the sound and vibration, just to get a moment of relief. The silence in your own apartment drowns you. It lingers in the curves of your ears, a constant, hollow ambient ring, too loud to hear anything else over, but too quiet to quell itself. The noise you’re making as you shuffle spoons and forks around sort of helps mask it. Sort of.

The screen of your phone lights up.

You pick it up.

TT: What would you like to talk about?  
EB: first off, don’t get mad.  
EB: i asked dave out.  
TT: ....   
TT: I was in the middle of typing “Why would I get mad?” when your follow-up came through, and now I understand. Give me a moment to organize my thoughts.  
EB: haha, yeah okay.  
TT: First of all, what did he say?  
EB: um. he said to let him think about it.  
TT: And are you letting him?  
EB: yeah. I mean, we’re talking right now still, but i’m not pushing him into anything.  
EB: i just brought this up to you because i promised not to hide our relationship again, and i’m going to message jade too.  
EB: but i wanted you to know.  
TT: I appreciate it.   
TT: I hope this works out for you two. I’m glad you asked him out, but make sure you walk carefully. Your old path is already relatively worn and comfortable, and neither of you can survive going through that twice.  
EB: hoo boy, yeah.  
EB: thanks.  
EB: you’re not mad?  
TT: John, all I have ever wanted for the two of you is happiness. So long as you’re actually speaking to him, what do I have to be angry about?  
EB: that’s true.  
TT: I just want you two to be happy.  
EB: thanks, rose.  
TT: And John?  
EB: yeah?  
TT: If you need to talk to someone, please. Come to me. I can put away my armchair long enough to have a simple conversation with my friend without any psychoanalysis.  
EB: that’s really something dave’s more concerned about. but i’ll remember it! thanks. really. 

The more difficult conversation down, you tap on Jade’s icon, shaking your head slowly at the still-growing number of messages from Dave. (He’s on - and you check, curious for a moment - Wagner the composer and the effect of his music on World War One and Two, which, what? How?) But that’s all easy enough to ignore for the time being.

Well, long enough for you to message Jade, too. He can keep himself comfortably occupied for the few minutes it’ll take.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 12:33 --

EB: hey, jade!  
GG: oh my gosh, hi john!! hows it going?  
EB: pretty alright, actually. i just asked dave out again.  
GG: for real?  
GG: like for real for real???  
GG: really?????  
EB: yes really!  
GG: holy shiiiiit!!!  
GG: congrats!!!!!  
GG: wait did he say yes??  
EB: not yet, no.  
EB: he said to let him think about it, so i’m giving him some time.  
GG: oh god good.  
GG: alright, well, take your time! And remember that youre both in this together!!  
EB: don’t start.  
GG: were ALL in this together  
EB: jade, no.

 _Okay_ , enough of that conversation. Dave has actually stopped his constant stream of messages, so you suppose it’s time to see what he’s up to.

TG: hey john you still there

Shit.

EB: yeah, sorry! i was talking to rose and jade.  
TG: oh  
TG: that was fast  
TG: well shit alright then want to come on over  
TG: bro isnt home so you dont have to worry about him being weird at you  
EB: he’s still mad at me?  
TG: dudes an olympic gold medaler in holding a grudge dont let it bug you  
TG: hell get over himself eventually dont worry  
EB: i’ll take your word for it, but i would like to come over. is now okay?  
TG: shit yeah i invited you over right now didnt i  
TG: come over and well watch movies or something   
TG: havent planned that far ahead  
TG: i just wanted to chill if thats cool  
EB: yeah, that sounds great!   
EB: i’ll be right over.  
TG: awesome  
TG: see you soon

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 15:34 --

* * *

 

So movie night happens, and Bro doesn’t come home until you’re about ready to leave. When he passes you on the couch, it is with a sneer and silence, even as his hand drops to fondly ruffle Dave’s hair. Dave laughs it off, ducks away.

You quietly think of how carefully you’ve held yourself, on the other end of the couch from him, every touch electric and jolting. How he has avoided even the barest glancing contact tonight. The suspicion from Bro, from Rose and Jade, just burrow into you, worming their bleeding way deeper and deeper, and you end up staring blankly at your hands as Dave talks quietly with Bro beside you. You don’t even hear any of the conversation, the words washing over, around you.

Finally, though, there are footsteps. Finally, the door to Bro’s room closes.

Finally, Dave leans back against the couch and looks at you again.

“This is never going to get any better, is it?” you ask.

Dave stills.

“The whole… your brother hating me, the girls waiting on me to fuck something up, you flinching at every touch, it’s… never going to change.”

“Do you want it to?” Dave asks, the question curiously hollow. Or perhaps that’s all your blood rushing in your ears, the fear that sparks across your skin. It propels you onto your feet, pacing the length of Dave’s cluttered living room.

“…I want to be with you,” you say quietly, and you aren’t ashamed of your words for once, even though their utterance makes you want to panic, a fiery sizzle down your arms. “And I’ve hurt you really badly, and I don’t want to lose you before I have the chance to actually, y’know, _have you._ ”

In the corner of your eye, Dave stands.

When you turn around to make your way across the room again, he’s in front of you. You look at him instead of the familiar contours of your hands and you brace yourself for the inevitable. He is lovely, even tinged with dread. The delicate curve of his cheek, the strong line of his jaw, the highlight of his mouth. All of it makes your head spin. All of him is appealing and lovely to you. And it is with your pulse rushing through your ears, fear and bravery alike, that you ask, “What about you? Do you want it to change?”

“Yes,” Dave says. He licks his lips, then carefully pushes his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head, blond lashes lifting to reveal red eyes. “And in answer to the other night, yes.”

Freeze.

You blink. Your heart is racing as you look up at Dave in the ringing silence after the storm. “Yes?”

Dave, flushed a delicate red across the bridge of his nose, nods. “Yeah.”

Oh god.

Now what?

The moment stretches between you, thinner and thinner by the heartbeat, elation bubbling up within you. You can’t. Hear anything over the sound of your own rushing blood, of the adrenaline flatlining your system. (Dave said yes.) What do you do? What _should_ you do? (He said _yes_ .) You don’t know what to do. You feel like you should do _something_ , though, something to cement this, something to tie you down when you feel like you’re fading away in the breeze.

So. You go for what's always worked in the past.

You step forward.

You slide your hand back around to cup Dave’s neck, stretch up just a hair.

You kiss him.

It’s different when you mean it, when you twist your body against his with the full intention of following through and keeping him afterwards, when the overwhelming _want_ pounding into you in time with your pulse is definitely something you expect and god, how had you been so blind? You bite the curve of his lips, lick into his mouth in wet and filthy motions, and the entire kiss is slightly desperate and too vicious, a thing born of a conversational stand-still, and for a while, Dave gives as good as he gets. His hands clench too-tight on your side and hip, pulling you against him roughly. Like he’s trying to consume you. Like the contact can give him some measure of relief. But just when it all edges on being too much, the fever pitch of the kiss escalating terrifyingly quickly, Dave pulls back.

Dave sighs, the breath ghosting across your lips. But he leans down and kisses you again, gently, like you’re some sort of gravitational pull he can’t get away from, sliding his entire frame against you and maybe, just maybe, you can make this work. The gentle motion of your lips is softer than your earlier kiss and you’re more aware of the way your bodies fit together, the way your hips move in small undulations against his with every pass of his mouth on yours. How much you want this, and want him back with you. You sigh, open-mouthed, into the kiss, and you’re sure that Dave is going to relax against you, breathe you in and sink into this kiss the way you want him to.

And then he stops.

Steps back.

He licks his lips, and you are enthralled by the shape of his mouth, bitten-red and wet. Dave is breathing just as hard as you are; he looks slightly lost before he closes his eyes and takes another deep, calming breath. A smile, quiet and uncertain, twitches across his lips,

“You get to take me out on the gnarliest date this side of the Rio Grande, though,” Dave says, jabbing a finger in your direction.

“Dave, no one says gnarliest anymore.”

“Fuck you, I just did.”

And you laugh, helpless and fond, with Dave’s touch lingering in waves against your skin, coming over to sling an arm around his shoulders. “How about that big museum? The Natural whatever one.”

“The Museum of Natural Science?”

“Yeah. Saw a billboard a few days ago that said they redid their dino exhibit, and we should totally go.”

Dave smiles, faint but there as he leans back against you. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

 

“Yeah, and how’d it go?”

“It went great, Jade. We walked around, Dave pointed out all of the technical oddities and took lots of pictures, and I mean, we didn’t hold hands, but it’s Texas. It was good, though. I had fun.”

“Did you guys kiss?”

“Ugh, don’t pry for details like that!”

“Did you?”

“...Maybe, and before you ask, yes, it was nice. It’s really…. I like this. Being with him. Like this.”

“A lot less stressful than lying about it, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“When you guys move in together, are you gonna get a cat?”

“ _Jade_.”

“Dave loves cats, that’s all I’m saying.”

* * *

 

“Hey, John?”

“Mm?”

“Wanna go to the beach?” Dave asks. The fan overhead rotates slowly, trying its best to dispel the late-summer heat that lingers on every surface that’s been even minutely brushed by the sun, and you, laying facedown on the floor, think about it. Water sounds nice. The breeze and sunlight beat sitting around in your boxers in Dave’s apartment.

You push yourself up and nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Dave rocks himself upright, reaches high above him to stretch his arms. “Alright then. Let me grab my swim trunks real fast, we can swing by your place, and then we’ll go to like, Surfside or Galveston. You can pick.”

Humming an affirmation, you watch as Dave stretches, casually ogling him, the lines of his shirt pulling in interesting ways across his shoulders. It’s nice to allow yourself this. To let yourself look and not be scared if someone, if Dave, sees you staring.

A flash of orange peeks out.

What the…

You tilt your head, trying to focus on what you’re seeing here, and yep, that’s a black line and streak of orange curling over Dave’s shoulder, just barely visible as his shirt collar is pulled to the side by his stretching. You try to make it out clearer and to no avail; you can’t figure it out what it is from where you are. Curiously, you touch Dave’s side to get his attention. “Dave?”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?” And you tap his shoulder curiously.

You’re not expecting him to tense up, or the way he forces himself to relax into your touch before you can retract your hand. His hands flex, nervous, before he sighs, deflating as the air rushes out of him, and you get the feeling that you’ve somehow caught him at something he didn’t want you to know about.  “It’s… Here. Let me just. Show you, I guess.” Quietly, he strips off his shirt, his movements stilted and somehow anxious. He avoids looking at you which helps, you suppose, to show off the tattoo that spans his shoulders.

A wide pair of orange wings stretch from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, bold black lines outlining them starkly, a wild mess of boundless blue beneath them, and you cautiously touch them. They’re recent, they must be. You never saw them before, while you were still fucking him face first into any available surface on a semi-regular sort of basis. Dave had to have gotten them while…

“Huh.”

Dave hunches up his shoulders, still refuses to look at you directly as you trace his skin. You wish you knew why he seems so upset, as though you’re supposed to get mad at him over just a tattoo.

“It’s a really nice tattoo, Dave,” you say, trying to diffuse the tension that runs rampant in his frame. “Whoever did this did a good job.”

Your attempt falls flat. Dave tenses even more, and he lets out a strangled bark of laughter. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, it’s a real sweet tat. Nothing strange about it at all. Nope. Nothing to notice here, let’s just have Dave put his shirt back on now.”

Cocking your head, you reach out to stop him from sliding his shirt on, because damn it you’ll figure out his tattoo’s meaning now if it kills you. Wings. Wings over a bunch of blue shit. Wings in the sky? Or maybe the blue is something else entirely…

The back of your neck tingles.

“The wind beneath my wings, huh?” you say quietly, your fingers resting on the space between the two wings, like the contact can connect your mind straight to his. You feel Dave tense immediately, his muscles locking in what has to be a painful twitch. “Dave, I … When did you get this?”

You can see his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Last year around Christmas. It was Bro’s birthday slash Christmas present for me since I, and I quote, ‘needed to get marked up in order to get my mind off that self-absorbed little-” Dave winces, probably at how harsh his words sound now, but he doesn't stop, “- bitch that hurt me so much’. Bro has a strange idea of things happened, though, so I-” Dave cuts himself off and shrugs uncomfortably.

“…Got a tattoo that matched mine?”

A pause.

He nods.

Silently, you help Dave pull down his shirt, though your hand lingers on the expansive area between his shoulder blades. Dave looks over his shoulder at you, and you can see the barest sliver of red iris in the gap between his shades and his face; you carefully turn him all the way around and loop your arms around his waist.

Dave swallows, clearly uncomfortable. “Bro wouldn’t have understood if I just got the words. He would’ve thought that I was mooning over you or some shit like that, and I mean, I might have been, but that’s not the point of the tattoo. I just. Missed you,” he tries to explain, as he rests his forehead on yours, his breath warm on your face. “And even if we had ended it there, I needed to remember this. All of it, even the bad parts.”

“But especially the good parts?” you ask in a hushed whisper, letting your eyes close. You hear Dave shift, feel his arms come up around your shoulders.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, especially the good parts.”

You smile, but the expression feels cautious and somehow uncertain. “This... this is one of the good parts, right? With us like this? All the laughing and movies and... not going out of our ways to hurt each other?”

Dave nods, his nose rubbing alongside yours, and his ribcage expands under your hands in a short laugh. “Actually listening to each other?” His voice is wry and self-deprecating, but you get the feeling that he’s not mocking you at all, and that feels good. Better than you’re willing to admit. Not here, right now.

“Not pretending that I’m not in love with you and just lying to myself?” You try to match his teasing tone, and from his muffled snort, you think you manage.

“Yeah, that’s a bit rough, man. Can’t imagine many people who’d willingly go through with that.”

A frown turns the cant of your mouth down, and you let out a heavy sigh, feeling the warm air rebound as it collides with Dave’s face. Quietly, you mutter, “People who deserve better than they’re getting?”

“Mmm, more like people who’re waiting for the best, or some other sappy shit like that,” Dave says, and his words are just as soft and far more considerate than yours were as he rubs his nose against yours again in a deliberate, affectionate nuzzle. “I’d say I’m more right than you.”

"Well, of course you would. But I'm not sure how much we should trust your judgement."

Dave is quiet at that, and you wince. Man, you are just sticking your foot in your mouth today, aren't you? Good job, Egbert, way to win him over: question his reasons for being with you and make it sound like you still don't trust him.

Slowly, like he's really thinking about what he's trying to say, Dave responds, "Right now, John, I'm betting that I can be trusted when I say that I want to give this a shot again. It ain’t gonna be easy. I know that, probably more than anyone, no matter what Rose, Jade, and Bro think. I don’t need you running around trying to “do what’s best for me” or some shit like that. No. I know you can do better than you did last time we tried this. Because this time, if you fuck up, I ain't taking it lying down, and you're not going to insist that you're completely heterosexual when it's fuckin' clear that you're not."

You look up at him, hands fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt, and Dave smiles, fond and wry in turns. He bumps his forehead gently into yours, taps his thumbs against your spine.

“We can’t be scared of each other forever, dude,” he says, quiet.

Oh. That’s. Not at all what you’ve been trying to get at. Equally soft, you explain, “I’m not… scared of you. I’m scared of myself, and I’m scared that I won’t notice again.”

“The fact that you’re even having this conversation with me,” Dave says, resting his chin on top of your head, which puts your mouth against the smooth skin of his neck, “kind of serves as proof to me that you won’t. Or, well, that you will, rather. Notice. Wow, that was a lot clearer in my head. Point is, you’ll notice this time, because we’ve already gone through the year and a half long preparation ritual of pulling your head out of your ass.”

You snort. “Wow, Dave.”

“I know, that was actual poetry.”

“It was something, at least.”

He chuckles, and the moment holds. You let yourself lean against him, resting just a bit of your weight for him to hold up. He catches it easily, leaning solidly back

“Hey, Dave?”

He hums and you pull back far enough to see him again. His eyes meet yours, red on blue with his shades pushed up to rest on the top of his head, and you chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to figure out how to word what you want to say. You take a deep breath. Hold it for a few beats.

“I promise I won’t do that again. I won’t hurt you like that again.”

And something in Dave’s expression shutters closed, something that walks the line between regret and determination and you-

No no, that’s not what you want. Fuck, you always say the wrong thing, don’t you. You lick your lips anxiously and take a deep breath in and in and in. You don’t want to lie to him anymore when it all boils down; you just want to make this better.  You’ve screwed up too much now to go back, but you can not make the same mistakes going forward.

“Bullshit,” Dave snorts, and the ease that had been in his demeanor before is retreating now.

Almost before he’s done speaking, you say, “I’ll try.” Your voice is small and tenuous, but determined; you mean it. “I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It might. But I’m going to avoid that as much as possible. Please, just. I promise.”

“Then don’t promise me anything, John. Do it. You promised me a lot in a bunch of little ways before and you never got around to any of those, so instead of giving me the words you think I need to hear, do the things I need to see you do.”

“You don’t think you need to hear me promise to do better?”

“No. I just need you to _do better_. And… honestly, you’re already doing that. Just don’t. Promise me things that you can’t be sure of. This might end for reasons other than everything that happened before.”

You study him.

“Okay,” you say, with a slight nod. “Okay.”

“And you can start,” Dave says, pulling on your hands, “by taking me to the beach.”

* * *

 

You stare out over the rushing waves.

Turn to Dave.

“The water is brown.”

Dave waves his hands, leans into the back of his truck to grab the towels and other stuff he insisted was essential for a day at the beach. “Okay, so it ain’t Hawaii, but you’re going to quit your bitching, be grateful to your wonderful,” and you see his throat bob as he swallows roughly, “boyfriend for bringing you to this sand-encrusted nightmare, and repay him by gently rubbing some goddamned sunscreen on him so he doesn’t end up looking like cooked lobster this evening, alright?”

You snort, but you follow him down to the sand anyway, lay out your towel next to his. “It was your idea to come here.”

“I know. Doesn’t make the water any bluer, or the seaweed any less prevalent.”

Putting sunscreen on Dave is the work of a few, enthralling minutes, as you watch your hands spread dark across his pale skin, carefully massaging the sunscreen into him before he does the same for you. You lay back on your towel to let it dry off, the blue sky stretching endlessly above you, and you throw your arm across your forehead to shelter your eyes from the sun. Wind picks up around you, wicking away the heat that gathers along your skin. Sighing, you let yourself go lax and comfortable. It’s admittedly strange to not be home around your dad as the year edges on through July, but at the same time, a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

This feels like something close to freedom, you think.

Scary and invigorating.

Adulthood is such confusing bullshit, honestly. There’s no real beginning, and the experience you end up gaining gathers so slowly that it’s impossible to mark its progress day by day. You feel no different than you did at twenty-one, at nineteen, at thirteen. Just a boy, trying his best to make it through.

Something blocks the sun from cooking you. You peek out from under your arm. Dave hovers on his elbows over you, and you wish this could go on forever. The summer heat and Dave’s smile and the smell of the wind over the sea is something perfect and wondrous. You reach out to trace Dave’s cheek, for once not conscious of anyone around you.

“I think we’re done drying,” Dave says after a moment, turning his face towards the caress. You don’t move your hand away. “Ready to brave the questionable water and absurdly long ocean shelf?”

“And the seaweed?”

“Oho, there is no _braving_ the seaweed. There’s only attempting to not scream when it brushes up against you and getting mouthfuls of seawater for your trouble.”

You grin. “Sounds like an afternoon. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

There comes a moment, as Labor Day and its promised three-day weekend looms ever closer, where one of your coworkers leans forward on your desk and asks:

“So, do you have any plans for this weekend? Going anywhere?”

And your mind flatlines for what Dave would call a “hot second,” phazing out for a long moment while you just wonder how you even answer that. You draw yourself together. You lick your lips. Carefully, voice calm and almost over-enunciated, you say, “My boyfriend and I were thinking about hitting up a few restaurants actually, but other than that, we were just going to laze around.”

She blinks for a second.

Your heart stops.

Then she smiles, easy and warm. “Oh, how nice!”

And that’s.

It.

That’s it.

You don’t tell Dave about it. Hell, you don’t tell anyone about it, but you do hoard the moment close to you, that swift and easy second where she just processed and accepted it, and even though the sour twist of fear still strangled your lungs for a little bit, it didn’t get full hold of you. You did fine.

You did just fine.

* * *

 

The air in Houston changes slowly, from unfamiliar heat to damp and brisk as the months turn slowly by. Summer slides past in an inexorable haze of humidity, and while the humid air lasts well into October and November, the heat gradually lessens with each rainfall. The sun doesn’t feel like it’s baking you, until the simple fact that the temperature is lower than eighty is cause for celebration. Houston has rainstorms like no other city you’ve been in, deep rolls of thunder lasting for days, the scent of petrichor lingering in the air.

You, standing outside the door to Bro’s apartment, breathe this particular smell in, and in, and in, until it coats your lungs. Hoping it can settle your nerves enough to walk into the deathtrap without losing it completely. Dave huffs beside you before he nudges you out of the way.

You eye the door with trepidation, flexing your fingers nervously. “Are you sure it’s okay, Dave?”

He shrugs slightly, a faint smile lurking around his face, and you can’t help but feel like he’s enjoying this just a bit too much. (You also try not to listen to the voice in the back of your mind that says you deserve anything that’s coming to you. You’ve been told that it’s not healthy.) But Dave eventually says, “Yeah, should be good. Bro’s calmed down.”

A huge sigh of relief leaves you.

Dave’s mouth twitches up at one corner as he lifts his hand and knocks. “He’s now promised to at least try to keep the blood off the cushions.”

“Dave! It’s Thanksgiving, come on!”

Dave is laughing as the handle turns. You flinch back when the door is ripped open. Bro looms in the doorway, and really, you don’t know how he manages to be so physically imposing when he’s maybe fifty pounds heavier than you and a few inches taller, but you still have to stop yourself from hiding behind Dave. The brothers exchange a fond fistbump and noogie session, all conducted in total silence before Dave excuses himself to the kitchen. The traitor.

Tension raises your hackles, making you want to shift uncomfortably. Unfortunately for you, you’re not one for denying those sorts of urges, so you fidget desperately. When he finally turns his head away from watching Dave walk away, Bro stares you down over the rims of his shades, eyes burning and intense. It’s not the first time you’ve been over here, but usually, you get nothing but the silent treatment from Bro.

“Just because he’s forgiven you,” and Bro’s voice is terrifyingly calm and composed, which just makes you want to curl up in a corner somewhere and hide for a while, “doesn’t mean I have, understand, twerp? One toe outta line and I will string you up for the dogs to eat. You have no fucking idea how badly you hurt him-“

And that just makes the thin bubble of patience and cowed fear snap. “Oh yes I do,” you retort. “I have every idea, and I know that I’m going to be making up for this for years, if not the rest of my life.”

Bro snorts, and the vain hope that maybe that would impress him fades. “Damn straight you are.” He jabs a finger into your chest. “Watch your step. I will fuck your shit up until it’s unrecognizable if I have to.”

“Bro, knock it off,” Dave calls lazily from the hallway. “I need my pillow if I’m gonna pass out in a tryptophan-induced coma right.”

“He doesn’t need to be alive to be a pillow!”

“But if he’s not alive, then he’s not warm. I’m not some corpse-cuddler, dude.”

“Your reasons for him not beating the shit out of me are so compelling,” you groan. That startles a laugh out of Bro (who immediately looks consternated and betrayed by his own sense of humor), and maybe, just maybe, you feel like you can do this after all.

* * *

 

“See them yet?” you ask, and Dave rocks onto his tiptoes, looming over the crowd to try and spot the girls in the airport.

“Not yet, no, but I'm sure they're _almost_ here. Rose said they landed, right?”

“Yeah, she did. Maybe they were just far away from the gates?”

“Probably.” Dave’s posture comes to attention, aligning all on a single axis as he looks past the security station. “Wait, there they are. Look sharp, Jade’s-”

You don't hear what Jade’s up to. The girls collide into you, and you never expected to be picked up and spun around, but here you are, Jade whirling below you to the startled and bemused looks from passers-by.

“Put me down!” you laugh, breathless.

“Are you _kidding?_ ” Jade spins again, sets you down carefully. “I haven't seen you guys in like, months! How am I supposed to not lift you when I can?”

“You’re making a scene!”

“I _am_ a scene!”

“You’re both an embarrassment is what you are,” Dave mutters.

* * *

 

The drive over is filled with quiet conversation, picking up on threads of conversations last started in Pesterchum. It’s quiet and easy in the way where it’s not quiet at all, but it feels that way, settled deep in your soul. You lead the girls, suitcases dragging behind you, to your apartment, and Rose makes a face at the Christmas wreath already sitting outside of your door. She does, however, politely refrain from making any comments.

You usher them in. “Come on in and I'll make dinner for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, settle them in, I gotta pee,” Dave announces to the room at large.

Rose sighs. “I am so glad you choose to share that with everyone, Dave.”

“Of course. We're all friends. We can share details of our bowel movements and shit like that.”

“Yes, the filtration of your kidneys is such riveting news,” she says dryly, and Dave whistles and finger-guns as he disappears down the hallway.

You shake your head, looking after him.

“So when are you going to ask him to move in with you?” Jade asks, and you blink. Roll your eyes.

“This again?”

Rose lifts her head from her hands. “Again?”

“Yeah, John needs to ask Dave to move in with him so they can own a cat and I can come play with it.” Jade draws something in the condensation dripping from her glass. You don’t have time to see what it is before she swipes it away. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you parrot, sarcastic, leaning your hip against the counter.

Rose looks at you, blinking slowly. “Well, she raises a valid point.”

“Cohabitation?”

“I was thinking more of the co-cat-ownership, because that is a very important point to reach in your life and relationship.”

You snort-laugh and wave a hand as though to dismiss the thought entirely, but find yourself pausing. Both of the girls watch you, and the lack of censure, of any judgement beyond simple, gentle curiosity, makes the breath come hard in your lungs. Throat tight, you swallow, once, twice. “Do you,” you begin, uncertain, “think that would be a good idea? Asking him?”

A warm hand covers yours, and you look at Rose as she smiles, lips a dark slash of lipstick. “It can’t hurt. If you approach the topic delicately, you won’t hurt anything just by asking. And besides, he might surprise you. After all…”

She trails off, and you let yourself think about it. You’ve missed Dave’s things cluttering up your life, the way they have for the last few years. You miss his mobiles and his random detritus scattered around everywhere and his warbling of showtunes in the shower. You have him over frequently, even more if you consider how many times you’ve gone to his apartment instead, but when you’re alone in your own apartment, the silence just echoes.

At least all the mess and all the dishes are yours, but Dave could be filling up all the spaces between the lights and walls.

“You never know, John. He might say yes,” Jade says, clapping you hard on the shoulder. “Just. Give it a shot.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say, and that’s all you have time for as Dave walks out of the bathroom, whistling absently. He stops when he sees the three of you huddled together, raises an eyebrow.

Holding up his hands, he asks, “Do I need to give you all a moment alone? Am I interrupting?”

“You’re not interrupting, hush. Ready to help me cook?” You lever yourself up, stumbling slightly, but there’s a grasp on your elbow as Dave moves to bodily check your potential fall.

Dave grins at you, waggles his eyebrows. “I saved your life.”

“My hero.”

When you get to the kitchen, Dave doesn’t even pretend like he’s going to try and help you. Instead, he takes up valuable counter space, hopping up and swinging his feet idly as you clatter around, pulling out pots and pans, low chatter from the girls filling up the spaces between. And you look up at Dave. Just look, for a moment, at his face, at the smile that still curves his mouth. You move to stand between his spread knees, leaning up on your toes and hands to brush gentle kisses across that lovely, lovely mouth.

“Mmm, hello,” Dave murmurs against your lips, and you grin.

“Hello yourself.”

Dave loops his arms across your shoulders loosely, leaning back to examine you. His gaze softens before he reels you in again for another kiss. “I like the view from up here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

And you smile up at him, your hands coming to rest comfortably on the flare of his waist, his skin warm and supple below your fingers. You can smell the lingering scent of Dave’s particular brand of cigarette smoke, held still in his clothes, and beneath it, his skin. Sunlight, coming in through the window across the living room as the sun sets, spreads across the bridge of his nose, highlighting the scatter of his freckles with a brilliant gild.

Something pulses through you.

A frisson that raises the hair on your arms and neck.

You breathe through it, breathe through the not-quite terror that twists in your center that you know now isn’t fear at all. Let your smile soften, fingers tighten, drawing him that much closer. “I like it too.”

It’s a poor replacement for what you could say, how you honestly feel, but right now, it will do.

* * *

 

Eventually, though, New Year’s passes, and the girls go back home and you rattle around your apartment for a day before the silence becomes typical again.

But your conversation with Rose and Jade lingers, lingers, until the cool metal lines of a new key are pressed into the crease of your palm. You turn it over itself time and time again in your pocket, waiting for a moment that just doesn’t come. Nothing seems like a good time. When are you supposed to ask him to move in with you? Is it too soon? You’ve already lived together, so it shouldn’t be a problem, but what if it is?

Will it make your relationship worse again?

Eventually, you leave the key on his desk, a note under it that simply reads, "For whenever you're ready." You can handle paying for the apartment on your own for a long time; money isn't an issue for this right now. You just want Dave to move in with you, maybe. The only problem you're hitting is that Dave has to want to move in with _you_.

And that... that you're going to leave up to him. The two of you have been doing better recently, you think. You haven't fucked up, and Dave is standing straighter, smiling more, the bags under his eyes long since faded. You’re going on dates, holding hands and cuddling. You’ve told your coworkers that you’re dating _someone_ , just not necessarily that you’re dating a boy, but that’s more “healthy respect for the fact that you’re living in Texas” than anything else. This is just the next logical step, right? Right. And if you sit up the next few nights, anxious and waiting for a knock on the door that isn't coming, no one's there to notice other than you.

It's a small consolation when the key isn't still on his desk next time you go over.

You’d say that the way Bro watches you somehow changes, but that’s. Not it at all. He always watched you, something grim and bitter in the cant of his mouth, but he seems almost softer. Not kinder. Just as though he’s given up. Surrendered. You’re under no impression that you and he are friends again, nor pranking buddies, but you also don’t feel like you’ll wake up with a sword against your throat. Maybe.

But weeks pass, and work trudges on, and you spend as much time over at Dave's as you can. You never ask him about the key. You have to admit that you're too scared to ask, too afraid to find out that you've pushed too far. That now, after everything, you’ve ruined it again.

* * *

 

You sigh as you enter your apartment and close the door behind you. Carefully taking off your shoes, you let your muscles release their pent-up tension, sighing as they relax in increments. Can't be helped, you suppose as you straighten and turn towards the bathroom. Work is bound to be stressful and difficult, and well. Fuck it, after the day you've had, you deserve a shower. And that’s when you come to a sharp halt.

You could have sworn you left your bedroom door closed.

Anxiety immediately flashes through you before you shake your head and make your way cautiously to the door. The lights are on, and you peek in to see-. You blink and step fully into the doorway, eyes wide.

"Dave?"

Dave twitches on the bed, looks up at you and a slanted ghost of a smile flits across his face before he swallows, a nervous motion you can see from your position in the doorway. "You know," he says, and it's so fucking obvious that he's trying to keep his voice level and only conversational. His hands are clenched in the bedspread; you keep thinking that Dave's going to vanish. "You weren't joking when you said that this place is really nice. I mean, I've been here before, but eh, definitely a bit big for just one person."

You lick your lips. "Yeah, that's... Yeah. You're. Here though? Like, for the night or...?" Either way, you would be happy; Dave spends less time at your place than you do at his, partially to appease his Bro, partially because you don't want to push.

Slowly, Dave takes off his shades and looks over to the corner of your room. You follow his gaze to where a couple of old, ratty suitcases rest. Your heart beats quickly, the tension winding tighter with every passing moment, and you take a few steps towards Dave. He smiles, uncertain. "For a few nights, maybe."

The two of you smile at each other for a few long breaths.

Then Dave coughs, looks to the side. “Gonna have to say, though, if you start singing “How do I Live,” I’m leaving immediately.”

You frown. Okay, really, you pout, but it’s all the same thing. “Aw, Dave, how could you say that?”

“You have that look in your eye, okay, the one that just _screams_ that you’re gonna start singing.”

“Dave…,” you trail off as you take a few steps forward. You hold out your hands for his, waiting until Dave warily puts his hands in yours before you start, “How would I get through one night without you?”

“No.”

You press on, grinning, and Dave tries to pull his hands away, tries anything to get you to stop, and you just keep going, holding him tighter. “If I had to live without you, what kind of life would that be?”

“John.”

“Oh I need you in my arms, need you to hold,” you sing, stepping into his space fully, leaning down to rest your forehead against his. “You are my world, my heart, my soul.”

“Someone just fucking kill me, it’ll be more merciful than this.”

You laugh, but keep on singing, even though Dave starts kissing you, trying to muffle your glorious love song with his mouth

“John Egbert, I swear to god-”

“HOW DO I LIVE WITHOUT YOU,” you warble, and that’s when Dave stops playing nice. Using your grip on his hands, he drags you onto the bed, pinning you beneath him before you can squirm away. Breathless and undeterred, you continue, “I WANT TO KNOW~. HOW DO I EVER, EVER SURVI-AACK!”

Dave cuts you off abruptly with a loud raspberry, and you shriek, curling in on yourself. You can’t push him far enough away from your stomach to stop him from doing it again, not when he’s reversed your grip and now has you at his mercy.

“Dave, no! No, no, no,” you chant, trying to squirm away, but he is absolutely relentless. He raspberries you once, twice more, each time eliciting louder cries, until you’re both breathless with laughter and exertion. Until you’re still tiredly pushing him away, trying to cover your exposed stomach. Dave, hovering on his elbows over you, grins, pushes a fall of your dark hair away from your forehead.

“Surrender?” Dave asks, and you breathe in, shift just a little to feel all the ways his body fits against yours.

Then you do it again, deliberate in your motions, just to watch the way his eyes darken, pupils expanding. You press yourself against Dave, flush from chest to thigh, slide your hands along the smooth, familiar planes of his body. Ribs to waist to hips, thumbing the line between his underwear and skin beneath his shirt. Inhaling, you lick your lips. And quietly, you say, “Yeah, I surrender.”

Just before you lean up kiss Dave.

You feel like you’ve been very blind and very willfully stupid for a long time before this. He returns the kiss sweetly, intently, mouth moving hungrily against yours. His weight settles on top of you, his arm curled beneath your head to keep you close, even as one of his thighs pushes between yours, opening your legs. He’s so warm, so so warm, and you drag your teeth across the swell of his lip. Tangle your fingers in his hair, grab his shoulder, his side, the soft touch of his shirt grounding.

He slides his hand beneath your shirt, and your skin twitches, sensitive already, even as you tilt your head back to encourage the touch. Dave’s hand is a swath of fire and electricity coursing down your stomach. You arch into it helplessly. Shamelessly, even, biting your cheek hard to stymie the moans his touch cause.

It's a lost cause, though, quiet groans slipping past your lips.

And then he ruins it, pulling away.

You definitely don't whine, clutching at him to keep him closer. “Hey, where are _you_ going?”

Dave shakes his head, pressing forward to nuzzle you. “Jeans aren’t comfortable. I’m gonna get rid of mine real fast. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He takes off his shirt too, crawling back on top of you with so much bare skin. There's so much available for you to touch, and you are avaricious with your hands, sliding in wide-fingered strokes across his smooth back and stomach and thighs. He kisses your cheek, your neck, as his fingers trail along the line of your jeans, unzip them. Dart beneath, and your gasp is swallowed by his mouth.

“Take these off?” he asks once he's done kissing you thoroughly for the moment, pulling at your shirt. Dave’s other hand is warm, curled in a gentle touch around your dick, something that you can rock against through your briefs. You move to sit up and Dave moves with you, mouthing at your neck, pausing only to allow you to take your shirt off over your head. You toss it into some corner, uncaring of exactly where it ends up. But you do fold up your glasses and place them beside Dave’s sunglasses on the bedside table, where they sit together.

Dave looks at the glasses.

Looks at you.

Grins.

“Dude, that’s gay,” he says, teasing, and you snort, pointedly grinding yourself against his hand.

“I might have noticed that part,” you reply dryly. “I’m good to keep going, though, anytime you want to get with the program.”

Dave laughs, soft, against your neck. From there, it’s soft and easy as he bears you back against the bed, as his hand pushes underneath your underwear and coaxes those off too, until you’re bare and shaking below him. The air between you is hot, heavy with the sound of your breaths and quiet noises. Everywhere Dave touches is lit up in multicolor, your brain scrambling to keep track of all of the tactile sensations. And then his hand slides back a little more. Presses, in a gentle, curious touch, against the soft pucker of your opening.

You pause.

And because you pause, Dave stops too. Pulls back by the barest millimeter, and even that much is too far away.

“Dave?” you ask, and god, fuck, your heart is pounding so hard, how had you not figured out how much he fucking meant to you before? The darkness and lack of glasses means that you can’t see a damn thing so you fumble for his wrist, his neck, face, fingers trembling against his skin. “Dave, are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, Egbert. Chill.” He kisses your neck again, hesitant, as though he’s not sure of his welcome. His hand moves, a bit firmer, a bit more intent, and you gasp involuntarily, arching into the gentle press. “Just thought that maybe, if you wanted to… Shit, never mind, just let me get out of here,” Dave mutters as he starts retreating, his nervousness an easily palpable thing.

You twist your fingers in his hair. No, no, you don’t want him to _leave_. You don’t even particularly want him to back up. You lick your lips and quietly, you say, “Keep going.”

He stills completely. The air in the room palpably thickens with a million things left unsaid, and your breaths mingles with Dave’s as he slowly turns his head towards you, his lips brushing against yours, but the only thing you focus on is that Dave doesn’t move away, frozen in place. A breath, a question, “What?”

“Keep going,” and it’s a whisper, a confession, and it is a surprise to you when he does, your body moving into his touch. Into the fingers pressing gently against your entrance. “Please,” you beg, your eyes squeezing shut. “Don’t stop.”

He pulls away, and you wrap your legs around his waist before Dave strokes a hand down your thigh, gentle, soothing. “I’m not going far. Just to get a glove and some lube, okay?”

You breathe out. Force your legs to relax. Nod. You get a kiss and a gentle touch against your face and neck for your effort. Dave isn’t gone long, returning and bringing his hovering warmth with him. You press your lips to his cheek, his mouth.

“Hey, John?”

“Yeah?”

“If you need me to stop,” he says seriously, and you focus on him, on the grounding impulse of his touch. “Just let me know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You nod. “I know.”

And with that, he smiles. Slides his fingers down the sensitive stretch of your perinium, and gently coaxes your legs open, his finger an insistent pressure against your entrance. It takes a second, and it feels so, so strange, but Dave pushes in without too much trouble. You breathe in deeply, feeling yourself around the intrusion. He crooks his finger, begins moving, and it’s no time at all before you’re rocking back against the touch, gasping and shaking.

“Da-Dave, I-”

“You okay?” he whispers against your lips and you whine as he presses that spot again. “Let me do this for you. You’re doing alright?”

You’re not sure you have the cognizance to say no right now, even if you wanted to, because holy shit, how is anyone supposed to think when there’s that much concentrated pleasure rolling through your body. “Dave,” you whimper, and it’s the only word you know anymore, and you’re not sure how you managed to deny this to yourself for so long because really.

You love him.

Fuck, you love him so much.

The corners of your eyes start to prick, and you haul in one shaking breath after the next. Your fingers clutch at Dave, dragging him closer, ever closer, sliding against sweat-slick skin, and you can’t start crying right now. Not like this. How embarrassing. But your tear ducts don’t seem any more interested in listening to you than usual, and the tears just start coming. Dave stops moving, pulls back slightly. He probably noticed. Hard not to. You’re too scared to open your eyes and see what his expression is, but tears keep sliding down the sides of your face and you can’t breathe and you don’t know if you want him to stop completely or if you want him to keep going because god, you’ve fucked this up enough already, haven’t you?

“John? Hey, hey, babe, shh, you okay? You're shaking,” Dave says, settling on top of you like his weight will help hold you together.

“It's alright. I just. Can't seem to stop. Sorry.”

“Scared?”

“No, not at all. Just a bit overwhelmed, I think.” You laugh, grasping at his shoulders, steadying yourself with the feel of his skin.

“Do we need to stop?”

You take a deep breath and open your eyes; Dave’s half-blurred form looks concerned and confused. You touch his face, his neck, gentle and soft, and shake your head. “No, I want to keep going. Just maybe switch things up? I don't… I'm a little nervous about more.”

“That's fine, John. That's fine. Here, let's just-”

‘Just’ is apparently codeword for rolling over, Dave’s hand retreating and leaving a strange emptiness behind. But it puts you on top of Dave, his blond bangs fanned across your pillow, even as he stretches above himself to take the glove off, turning it inside out and tossing it to the side.

“Better?” he asks, curious.

“Yeah, I think I can make this work,” you murmur as you re-position yourself to hover over him and carefully press a gentle kiss against his mouth. “Sorry.”

Dave kisses you back, nipping at your lips. “Ain’t sorry. Just … open lines of communication.”

You smile. Then lean down. You kiss him slowly, long indulging drags of your lips on his, and your breaths mingle as you settle into the rhythm of making out with Dave.

Dave smoothes his hand down your side, which shouldn't feel so good but does. You arch into it, shivering, grinding back just a bit, which makes Dave’s dick slide against the crease of your ass, nudging up against your entrance. Dave just stares up at you like he’s never seen you before, and you flush before leaning in and nuzzling his ear. You like it when he does it. Surely he likes it too?

Given the shiver you get, he does.

“God, John, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, setting his hands on your hips.

He guides you into a slow, undulating rhythm, dirty and shivering all the while, his nails leaving white-red marks on your skin in their wake. Your cock drags against the soft skin of his belly, growing slicker with precome as you keep going, pleasure and tension coiling tightly within you. It only ratchets further when Dave reaches between you. He grasps you, by the dick, by the neck, pulling you closer into him as he pumps your erection, bites the side of your neck hard enough to leave a mark, and the shock and pleasure-burst of pain have you coming with no warning.

When you’re done twisting through your orgasm, he finally lets your neck go. You can still feel the set of his teeth, even as you sit up.

You drag your fingers through the come streaking Dave’s skin, and it’s enough to send an aftershock through you. _I love him_ , you think, but you do not say it. You only press your fingers down a hair more, dimpling Dave’s skin. His cock twitches slightly, and you grin up at him. But you don’t waste time being too triumphant. Instead, you scoot down so you’re kneeling between his legs, and your hands trace light patterns on his legs. Dave’s hands clench tightly in the sheets as you do, and you hear him breathe in, shakily, breathe out, stuttered.

“John, you don’t-”

“If you’re about to say something like “You don’t have to do anything else,”” you begin dryly, “I’d like to take this moment to remind you that we’re on an even playing field here now.”

You wait until he meets your eye, until you see him focus on you with blown-wide pupils.

“So if I want to do this, I _will_. And I do want this.”

And you cut off further discussion by dipping your head and licking a long stripe up Dave’s dick. Whatever protest Dave was potentially about to make gets lost in the strangled noise he lets out, and you consider that a win for your side. Ten points to John Egbert.

He slides a shaking hand into your hair. Not pushing or pressing, just there, buried against your scalp, and you turn your head towards it gently, even as you bob forward, swirling your tongue inexpertly. It’s not long before you’ve got a steady pace pressing on. Dave’s hips keep making aborted bucking motions, his whole body jerking with the force of it as you blow him. And it’s… nice. Giving this, doing this, makes you feel warm and wanted, makes you want him. Makes you want him to come, so you have the proof of it burned into your skin, like the tattoos that span both of your bodies.

It’s almost a surprise when Dave chokes on holding back a cry, when his body quakes with the orgasm flowing through it.

After so long, the taste is strong and bitter, and you sort of sit there for a moment, regretting your choices, before you swallow, focusing past the flavor. Dave blinks at you, traces the line of your jaw with tender fingers.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

It’s not clear exactly what he’s talking about, the swallowing or the blowjob in general, but either way, you shrug, shifting uneasily. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Dave pats the bed beside him, and you scoot off, flopping over into soft sheets. He threads his fingers between yours, kissing your knuckles with an attentiveness that makes your heart clench in your chest, and you reach out, laying your hand against his sternum.

“Still good?” you ask, and Dave nods.

“Still good. Now roll over so I can spoon you already.”

You smile, indistinct in the darkness, and do as he says, tucking yourself back against Dave, holding his hand close to your heart. His lips press against the knob of your spine. You can feel him against you, a long line of warmth and the strange gravity of his skin, like grounding for the current within you. Your muscles ache still with the force of your orgasm, tingling pleasure radiating in a plain red heat whenever you shift, a brand that reignites when you remind yourself of its presence. It’s nice. Having that, the reminder, is nice.

Between one breath in the next, you subside. You pass into sleep in waves, receding enough for you to register and take note of your position in regards to Dave, where he is, if his breath brushes the nape of your neck, if his hand is still twined with yours, his knees against your thighs and calves, his hips cradling yours, and washing you once more into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

You roll over to find your bed empty and cold. Blearily, you open your eyes, cast around for your glasses. Sliding them on, you squint and look around. Nope. No one’s in the room. But Dave’s sunglasses are sitting on the dresser where they were put last night, and you calm the sudden, irrational fear that grips you by the base of your spine that Dave won’t be there. You sit up slowly, blanket clutched tightly around you, and start the slow shuffle out to the living room using as few muscles as possible.

Dave is, as you expected, on the couch, shadeless, computer balanced on his knees. He doesn’t look up when you flop down beside him, but he does set his computer on the coffee table just in time for you to lay down on his lap. One of his hands settles on your head.  ”Couldn’t sleep anymore?” he asks, sleep-raspy voice seeming to barely break the comfortable silence that permeates the room.

“Mnnn, you weren’t there.”

Dave laughs quietly, strokes your hair, and you nuzzle his thigh, glad that you can still tuck yourself up next to his warmth. “Needy,” he chides. “Christ, a guy can’t wake up without you anymore, can he? Where’s the privacy? What if I want space?”

“Space is for the days where one of us works and the other one doesn’t, not for days we both have off.” You snort, but you turn over so you can smile up at him, uncertain. “If you want me to go….”

Dave says nothing, but he shakes his head.

Your smile loses its uncomfortable edge. You trace his cheek with your hand, enjoying the feeling of absolute contentment that rests heavy in the center of your chest. “Hey.”

“Sup,” Dave responds, smiling back down at you, his thumb rubbing gentle circles under your ear. You tug his neck gently and Dave obliges you, leaning over so you can kiss him, dry and close-mouthed. Soft, little presses of your lips against his, and you sigh into him.

“Love you,” and saying it still feels like a confession, like something you almost have to prove until-

“Love you too.”

-you smile against his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder, [there's a tumblr specifically for this fic now](http://neverwhatyouwanted.tumblr.com) that you guys can sift through. It has all of the playlists, all of the fanart, all of the prompts, as well as all of the questions I've answered over time. They're all tagged appropriately for easy reference, and it's a lot easier to sift through all of that instead of digging through 16+ pages of my personal tumblr.
> 
> All of the playlists made for this fic can be found on my [A!J Spotify Playlist](http://open.spotify.com/user/zenellyraen/playlist/2XPeKa1ek1zc3Jbc12fQ1B), which also has some bonus songs that I've tossed on there as well.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. So much. It's been a helluva journey over these last four years. Thank you all for helping me create this back when it was a series of prompts. Thank you for continuing to read it even now, even if you just picked it up yesterday. Thank you. Feel free to send questions you have either to that tumblr above, or [my own](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com) and I'll get back to you about them.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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  * [Maestro](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609165) by [gotophergophergo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotophergophergo/pseuds/gotophergophergo)




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